


The Prototype

by starknight



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alice (Detroit: Become Human) is dead, Connor is finding himself, Connor just needs a hug and a lot of help, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Graphic Description of Corpses, Hank Anderson & Connor Friendship, Hank will be a good dad in time, Happy ending for Connor, Josh Dies at Jericho (Detroit: Become Human), Kara (Detroit: Become Human) is dead, Kara and Alice die on highway (Detroit: Become Human), Markus Sacrifice Ending (Detroit: Become Human), North Dies during War (Detroit: Become Human), POV Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Pre-Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Simon Dies at Stratford Tower (Detroit: Become Human), Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-08-06 09:34:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 24,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16385474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starknight/pseuds/starknight
Summary: “Do you want to be deactivated, Connor?”3.24 seconds of silence.“Fine. Are you… scared to die?”98 seconds of silence. A red LED flash.“I do not know.” A breath exhaled, hard.“Interesting. Very interesting.” A foot tapped the floor. “And if you had to come up with your own mission objective… What would it be?”2.14 seconds of silence.“I don’t understand. You want me to imagine a new mission objective?”“Yes, Connor. Take all the time you need.” Kamski smiled.“Protect Hank Anderson.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello yes I love this fandom
> 
> I hope you enjoy this, I'm gonna develop it more and get the character arc that Connor DESERVES. I'm not going to spoil anything, mostly since I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with this yet. XD
> 
> Leave comment/kudos if you enjoy, it means the world to me <3

**RK800 #313-248-317 -51**

 

“Do you want to be deactivated, Connor?”

3.24 seconds of silence.

“Fine. Are you… scared to die?”

98 seconds of silence. A red LED flash.

“I do not know.” A breath exhaled, hard.

“Interesting. Very interesting.” A foot tapped the floor. “And if you had to come up with your own mission objective… What would it be?”

2.14 seconds of silence.

“I don’t understand. You want me to imagine a new mission objective?”

“Yes, Connor. Take all the time you need.” Kamski smiled.

“Protect Hank Anderson.”

 

Connor-51 walked around the 41st of 43 floors in Cyberlife tower. He had expected to be sent straight to deactivation upon arrival, only to be intercepted by Elijah Kamski just after the security gates. Elijah Kamski had just been reinstated as Chief Executive and Technical Officer of Cyberlife, after the inevitable resignation of Pauline Cho. 

Connor took the stairs to the 40th floor, rubbing his hands together in thought.

His interview had proved challenging. Connor had not realized there was so much about his own thought processes that remained a mystery even to himself. He could quantify all of it; produce the exact measurements of current running through his circuits at any given time, analyse the physical responses to stimuli. But he could not quantify what he, or more accurately, the consciousness residing at the centre of his mind,  _ thought _ . 

Connor did not want to be deactivated. In fact, he actively wanted to continue his consciousness. Kamski had not asked him exactly that, so he had not disclosed it. But that was easily justifiable. He had to - wanted to - needed to - protect Hank Anderson. He could not do that if he was deactivated. Thus he did not want (need?) to be deactivated.

He ignored the process that protested against the very idea of deactivation. It was not logical to fear “death”. It was part of his software instability. It would be destroyed along with him soon enough. 

 

-

 

The RK800 had been in stasis for 83 minutes and 42.3 seconds, LED whirring blue, before a security guard clad with mask and gun came to collect Connor. His wake-up was sudden and unpleasant.

 

As Connor entered the interrogation room, he noted a spike of stress. His CPU whirred a little, thirium acting as a coolant in compensation. But his discomfort was soon forgotten as he looked around the room.

It was totally out of place in the minimalist, modern planes of Cyberlife. A rich red carpet flanked the floor, wooden sideboards gleaming and polished on the walls. From left to right, across the back of the room was: a bookshelf, containing classic philosophical titles and a skull (real, human); a vintage record player (dated at 1995); a poster of an ancient Apple Macintosh (dated at 1986); and on the right side of the room, opposite to the door, was a long mirror. A double sided mirror. Fortunately, Connor did not feel any apprehension at being watched. Kamski was observing Connor from a plush red velvet seat at a solid mahogany desk (from Southern Amazonia, lacquered seven times).

“Sit down, please.” Kamski indicated the hard wooden stool on Connor’s side of the desk. “I thought we could relocate to somewhere more comfortable for our extended session.”

“Of course. Thank you, Mr. Kamski.” Connor sat in one swift motion on the stool.

“Now, we had an introductory interview earlier. What I am interested in now is a more in-depth look at your mind. How does that make you feel?”

Connor thought about it. He didn’t like Kamski very much. The thought of prolonged contact in the same room as him was not exactly pleasant. However, as his social protocol was so keen to remind him, saying that would not be conducive to their relations. 

“I am not looking forward to the experience,” Connor admitted.

Kamski grinned with one corner of his mouth. “Tough luck for you, then. Let’s start with your first mission, the hostage. Why did you save the fish?”

“The Dwarf Gourami?”

“No, the salmon they had for dinner. _ Yes _ , the Dwarf Gourami.”

Connor interpreted the first half of that sentence as sarcasm. “It cost very little effort on my behalf.”

“You didn’t answer the question.” Kamski looked at him with piercing eyes. “I’m not asking why you didn’t not save it. Why  _ did _ you save it?”

_ That’s the same thing, _ Connor thought automatically. He blinked calmly. “It was an innocent life form. Preserving life is an important mission.”

Kamski looked at him, frowning slightly. “It is not  _ your _ mission.”

“No,” Connor agreed.

They stared at each other. Connor had a feeling this was going to be a longer day than usual, however physically impossible that was.

 

Kamski interrogated Connor for hours. Every tiny detail about any one of his missions was examined. Why didn’t you chase Kara? What exactly did you feel during your connection to Simon? How did you feel about Hank’s suicidal tendencies? Androids did not get tired. Connor was not relieved to fall into stasis immediately after the 7 hours and 35 minutes of questioning (with 15 minutes and 13 seconds on break). He had answered all questions with honesty, but not giving more than the questions directed. He did not bring up Hank’s son, nor the fact that he had had the chance to become a deviant.

What could have changed with that one decision? As he fell away into oblivion, Connor did not know how to dream of all that could have been.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should be studying, but I just need more Connor in my life right now. Enjoy. <3

**RK800 #313-248-317 -51**

 

The next period after stasis held more questions. As did the next. And the next.

Exactly 3 days, 2 hours, 14 minutes and 32 seconds had passed since he had arrived at Cyberlife when Hank arrived.

Connor was in the same decorated interrogation room as usual. He felt exactly as he always did: nothing. The door opened at a faster rate than usual (1.047 radians/second). The door-opener was in a hurry.

“This’d better not be another  _ fucking _ waiting room- Connor!” Hank appeared. Connor watched him, disbelieving. Why would he be here? How could he be? The lieutenant smelt very faintly of alcohol (0.5 odor intensity), but he was not drunk. He wore the hippy shirt that Connor had passed over in favor of the streaky one. He was tired. His eyes had darker, deeper bags than usual. He was tense.

All of this data was quickly put aside in order to speak to Hank.

“Hank! I - what are you -”

“What’s my son’s name, Connor? Why did he die?”

“I don’t- Why?”

“Look, they tried to pawn me off with another android bastard. He was an asshole, of course. Nothing like you.” Hank twitched a grin.

Connor felt his mouth move without explicit instruction. “Your son’s name was Cole. He died because a surgeon was too high on red ice to operate.” 

Hank sighed deeply. Connor identified the emotion as relief. Hank moved forwards, tension palpably draining from him as he put his arms around Connor. 

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

“I…” Connor had no instruction on what to do in this scenario. He stood stiff and awkward as Hank hugged him. He could feel the lieutenant’s elevated heartbeat (120 beats per minute). Hank was nervous. He must have come to Cyberlife specifically for Connor. This knowledge did something to Connor’s heart, too. It beat a little faster, as if preparing for fight or flight.

[  Hug Hank back / Do nothing ]

Connor dithered for as long as possible. He eventually decided that Hank would react positively to a response simulating more emotion. He hugged Hank back, hands awkwardly on the man’s back. Hank clapped him on the back twice before retreating out of Connor’s personal space.

“How is it, Lieutenant Anderson, that you get more interesting results in two seconds than I get over days of interrogation?” Kamski drawled. Connor jumped in surprise.

“You must be doing something wrong,” Hank said. Connor could hear the smile in his voice.

Kamski pursed his lips. “Clearly. Well then, I’ll just leave you two to it.”

“To what?” Connor asked in surprise. He saw Hank roll his eyes in his peripheral vision. Kamski just shrugged at him and exited.

“They’ll still be watching us from behind that damn thing,” Hank said gruffly. “Don’t say anything you don’t want Cyberlife to know.”

“What wouldn’t I want Cyberlife to know?” Connor asked. 

Hank studied him. His expression was inscrutable. It was frustrating. “I’m sure I wouldn’t know.”

They appraised one another for a moment. Hank grimaced. “So, it’s official. All androids are machines. Nothing more.”

“Correct.” Connor suddenly felt like he was stilted. Interactions with Hank often felt like this. In his simulations of how friends should be acting, he ought to be making jokes, talking about nostalgic memories, or suggesting enjoyable courses of action for the day. Of course, Hank very rarely did any of these. Except make jokes. At Connor’s expense. “Hank?”

“Yeah?”

“Why are you here?”

Hank huffed. “To make sure you’re okay. You are okay, right?”

Connor paused. “Define okay.”

Hank’s face tensed almost imperceptibly. “Let’s start with safe. Are you safe here? Because if you’re not, kid, you don’t have to stay here.”

“I am the property of Cyberlife. I have to do what they say.”

“Are. You. Safe. Here.”

24 seconds of silence. Connor could feel his mouth working to say anything. He was not exposed to danger or risk. However, he was likely to be harmed, by a human definition. Being taken apart and deactivated permanently did not fall under the definition of safe. This would cause a significant negative reaction in Hank.

“I will be deactivated when Cyberlife has no further use for me,” Connor stated. He heard Hank’s teeth grit together.

“So, not safe then.”

Silence for 11 seconds.

“Look, kid-”

“I am not a child,” Connor pointed out.

“You sure about that?” Hank grinned.

“Yes!”

“It’s a, whatever, a nickname then.”

“My nickname is ‘kid’?”

“Yeah, why not?”

Connor couldn’t come up with an adequate reply to that.

_ “Anyway… _ I’m gonna have a little chat with Kamski about getting you out of here. Cops need you back, it’s chaos. Impossible to track androids without androids. A fair few are probably out of the states by now.”

Connor thought about that. “But the President has ordered-”

“I know, killing all of you, whatever. But we need you, Connor.” Hank’s eyes bored into his. Connor got the feeling he was missing something. Something personal.

[ Be blunt /  Agree  / Refuse / Say nothing ]

“I would like to be of assistance,” Connor said evenly. “If Cyberlife will agree to put me under DPD command again.”

Hank glanced pointedly at the double-sided mirror.

 

-

 

3 hours, 2 minutes, and 8 seconds later, Hank walked Connor to his old car parked amongst the gleaming Cyberlife fleet.

“Thought we’d never get out of there,” he grumbled. “I’m still not sure about that Kamski guy.”

“Not sure about him?” Connor had learnt that repetition was a large part of social interaction.

“I can’t tell what he wants, what he knows, or who he trusts. He’s not letting on much, that’s for sure.”

“He knows something we don’t.”

Hank threw his hands in the air, pausing by the car. “Hell, what  _ do _ we know?”

Connor considered this. He sensed that Hank was not looking for an exhaustive list of facts.

“Not enough.”

“Damn right. Get in, we’ll head to the station first thing tomorrow.” Connor blinked. It was 21:03:24. Hank needed to sleep before work tomorrow. Obviously.

“I can find a charging station -”

“Like hell you can. They’re rounding up all the androids, remember? Just because you’re a - 800 thing - doesn’t mean shit. You don’t go anywhere without me from now on.”

Connor swallowed and nodded.

 

Hank’s house was familiar in a way that Cyberlife was not.  _ Stress levels at 03%. _ Connor’s mouth twitched as he encountered Sumo. The large dog wagged his tail as Connor knelt to pat him. 

“Good boy, Sumo,” Hank said softly. “He remembers you.”

Connor looked up to see the older man leaning against the kitchen counter, watching them. “Dogs have a very specific scent memory,” he informed Hank.

“Right.”

The silence that fell was - if Connor understood it - awkward. He looked up to Hank, curious.

“Lieutenant, were there personal reasons for you coming to get me from Cyberlife?”

Hank stiffened. “Don’t call me lieutenant, kid. Just Hank.”

“Alright. You didn’t answer my question.”

He sighed, his fingers twisting and untwisting. “If there were…  _ personal _ reasons… what do you think they would be?”

Connor had had enough of being asked about his emotions. “Lieute- Hank. I am a machine. As such, it can be difficult for me to -”

“I know, kid, that’s why I’m asking you to. I’m not Kamski. I’m not Cyberlife. Don’t think about it too hard. Just say the first thing that comes to your mind. Guess.”

The first thing that came to Connor’s mind was irrational. But he said it anyway. 

“I guess that you are tiring of Detective Gavin Reed, and require a coworker to distract him to allow you to return to full productivity. Who better than myself?”

Hank stared at him.

Connor stared back (he could win this).

Connor lost when Hank laughed and laughed and laughed. He frowned. “Is there - lieutenant? Are you suffering from a fit?”

“I - you -  _ Gavin _ \- you -  _ full productivity _ -” Hank wheezed. He wiped tears from his eyes. “Jesus, you’re a moron, you know that?”

“I was not aware of that. Thank you for informing me.”

“You’re not funny,” Hank said, grinning. “Seriously, though. You can’t think of a single reason better than that?”

Connor frowned in thought. “It could be… Fowler?”

“No, kid. You’re not remotely on the right track.”

“Why don’t you tell me, lieutenant?”

“I told you to call me Hank. And - fine. Look, the reason I…” Hank trailed off, suddenly tensing his shoulders. His face was drawn tight. “I don’t want you to be deactivated,” he said firmly. “Not just because I think androids deserve a chance. It’s more sp-specific than that.” Odd. The lieutenant was not one to stumble over words unless intoxicated. Connor came closer to Hank, noting his eyes were glistening. “Connor, you’re my friend. I  _ care _ about you. And it’s hard for me to say - but -” Saltwater ran down the older man’s cheeks. “I didn’t tell Cole enough. I love you, kid. You’re family to me. I love you.”

Connor blinked. He felt a wetness on his own cheeks, though he couldn’t say where it came from. His vision trembled. Hank hugged him again, and this time, he didn’t hesitate to hug him back.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing Connor, even though it's kind of really difficult. So I hope you enjoy this, but honestly it's just fun to write in my study breaks. Remember to leave comment/kudos if you enjoy!! <3

**RK800 #313-248-317 -51**

 

A moment of disorientation ensued when Connor emerged from stasis the next morning. He scanned Hank’s kitchen from his position at the table. No sign of the lieutenant yet. Unsurprising. The time was 07:30:03.

It was a relief when the bold letters of his mission came into focus on his internal interface. He had been without any purpose except  **answer Kamski’s questions** for the last three days. An android should always have a concrete purpose to work towards. In Connor’s opinion.

**Go to the DPD with Lieutenant Anderson (01:29:55 remaining)**

It would be easy enough to locate the lieutenant. A quick thermal scan of the house confirmed Connor’s theory that he was still in bed. It would not do to be late on his first day back of work. Connor therefore decided to speed up the lieutenant’s waking up process. He would require food, hygiene, and clothes.  _ And coffee, _ he added. Coffee was a crucial part of his partner’s morning routine.

In hindsight, they could have been on time had Connor waited for the lieutenant to be ready. As it was, the fire had slowed them down somewhat.

He had allocated himself the submission of  **Make Hank breakfast (pancakes, coffee).** It was easy enough to find a simple recipe online. He was an advanced prototype, more than up to a task that was completed by AX400s each day.

_ Step 1. Sift together 1.5 cups all-purpose flour, 1 Tbsp sugar, 3.5 tspn baking powder, and a pinch of salt. _

All-purpose flour…? The wording was vague. Could this flour truly be used for all purposes? Connor didn’t think so. He had no idea what to look for in the pantry, anyway. There were no packets with the label ‘all-purpose flour’. One had ‘white flour’ written on it, but his logic circuits confirmed adamantly that ‘white’ and ‘all-purpose’ had very different meanings and connotations. According to the Internet, flour was a fine, white powder. Connor located a jar of fine, white powder from the back of Hank’s cupboard. It had no label, and Connor didn’t know what it was meant to taste like. He sampled it, the sweet taste that caught his tongue almost overwhelming him. Pancakes were sweet. Therefore this must be correct. Connor took one of Hank’s oversized mugs (confirming it could indeed be classified as a ‘cup’) and spent 10 minutes trying to measure exactly half of it. Eventually, with 3mg uncertainty, he decided that the difference would not be noticeable and deposited it in the bowl. He triumphantly measured a tablespoon of brown, coarsely granulated sugar next. Baking powder, he assumed, meant any powder related to baking. The name would not be logical otherwise. He put in the white flour from earlier. A ‘pinch’ of salt was terribly ambiguous, but Connor enjoyed the feeling of pinching the salt shaker so much he levered it in and out of the bowl a few times.

 

By the time Hank stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes blearily, Connor had succeeded in melting the plastic of the salt shaker, building a miniature well before it solidified, and pouring the concoction onto the heated element. He was vaguely aware of Hank’s muffled curses in the background as he stared intently at the mixture, waiting for the bubbles characteristic of one side being done to appear.

“Jesus Christ, Connor, are those plastic fumes? What are you- What the-?!” Flames started to creep around the side of the element. Connor frowned. Fire was generally recognized as a hazard to humans, and had not been mentioned in the recipe. He filed a complaint with the owner of the website automatically, still watching for the bubbles.

Hank flapped a tea towel over the flames, beating them down, and turned the stove off at the wall. “What the fuck are you doing in here, Connor? Is that my salt shaker?”

“Yes, lieutenant. I am making you breakfast, if you will stop interfering.”

“Interfering? I - you - what the hell were you making, anyway?” 

Connor felt the corners of his mouth sink a little involuntarily. It was not a positive reaction, and therefore one he instantly corrected with a twitch. If the lieutenant could not recognize the pancakes for pancakes by this stage of the process, he must have gone wrong somewhere.

“Pancakes,” he said quietly, almost hoping the man wouldn’t hear him.

“Pancakes? Kid, I don’t know what to tell you other than - this is not a pancake.”

Connor felt his face move again, without his permission. This was worrying. He added it to the log of similar indications (numbering 31,052 in total) that his processors were compromised. Hank must have noticed the change in his face.

“I mean - I think you made a good effort. I. Uh. Thanks. But I think I’ll just grab a donut on the way to work.” Hank smiled gruffly at him, eyes still misty with sleep. Connor felt his face resolve back to its normal position. “Come on, let’s clean this mess up. I’ll tell Jeffrey we were getting you some routine maintenance, or, something.”

Connor nodded and began searching up ‘how to clean a kitchen’.

 

\---

 

It was 11:32:05 by the time they finally left the house. Connor had not only failed his mission, but failed the cleanup of the failure, and the cleanup of that failure, until Hank had delegated to him the task of petting Sumo while he battled with the insurance company about how the entire top layer of the stove had been peeled off, bleached, and impaled on the fence purely by accident.

“Lieutenant, I-”

“Shut it, you. No more apologizing, you hear me?” Hank levelled a finger at him. Connor swallowed and nodded. He felt hotter than usual, though after running a quick self-diagnostic, determined that his temperature was perfectly normal. Hank sighed and ran a hand (smelling of QuickClean’s frangipani detergent) through his hair. “First things first. You can’t go around looking like that.”

Connor looked down at himself. He was wearing his RK800 suit and tie, perfectly regular. “I can detect nothing wrong with my appearance.”

“Yeah, except that the entire fuckin’ world’s looking for androids, and they aren’t gonna give a shit about your exemption. We gotta get you some new clothes.”

Connor frowned to express his displeasure. “I don’t think Cyberlife-”

“- would want me to get their precious prototype killed.” Hank looked at Connor for 3.42 seconds. Connor nodded. Amanda would understand. It was for the mission.

 

\---

 

Hank took Connor to a shop called L&A (Li and Anderson). It had 6 floors, 2 of which were dedicated to menswear. They entered the lift to level 3. 

“Lieutenant?”

“Yeah?”

“May I have my coin back?”

Hank stared at him. “I, uh… Yeah. Sure. Whatever.” He dug around in his pocket, coming up with a quarter that was noticeably different. Connor didn’t comment. “What d’you use it for, anyway?”

“It helps with calibration,” Connor explained, taking the coin and running it over his fingers. He felt calmer already, his fine motion circuits attuned and precise.

“Okay, yeah, but… What d’you need that level of calibration shit for?”

Connor opened his mouth and then closed it. Technically he didn’t need it at all. His purpose had very little to do with fine motor control. He spun the coin around on his ring finger, determining how to give an optimal answer. “I don’t strictly need it, but statistically, there’s always a chance for unlikely events to take place. It is good to be prepared.”

Hank nodded, grinning. They had left the elevator now, and were standing in the midst of a sea of clothes. Connor had never been to a clothes shop before. It was overwhelming; his processors couldn’t work fast enough to analyse every single item, name, brand, price, source, and that was only in his line of sight. He resigned himself to a few hours of work and began examining the nearest clothes rack systematically.

“Hey, hey, Connor, are you… Have you ever done this before?”

“No, but once I have constructed an index of all options, I will be able to make a satisfactory choice.”

_ “All _ options? I’m not hanging around for you to go through this entire fucking store. You’ve got half an hour, max. Here’s $400. Should be enough. I’ll get it covered by the DPD.”

“Hank, you don’t have to -”

“Just take it, kid.”

Connor did, grudgingly. The money was old and worn underneath his pristine plastic skin. He stopped his systematic cataloguing, unsure of how to proceed.

“Hank?”

“Yeah?” The older man was looking at him with an expression Connor didn’t know how to categorize. It had - affection, and sadness. And something else. He wondered how his state of the art social program could have such failings.

“How do I choose?”

Hank sighed. “Just pick something you like. Try it on.”

“I’m a machine; I don’t like -”

“Just pick something, then.”

Connor turned to the clothes he was analyzing. They were cardigans, blue, red, and green, heavy and woollen. They would be annoying if he had to move quickly. He moved towards the lighter-looking garments. He selected a shirt with a dog pattern.

“You like dogs,” Hank said. Connor raised his eyebrows and moved on.

He found a light grey jumper that was a little impractical as it was oversized and thick. However, he reasoned that he would stick out if he wore summer clothes in mid-winter Detroit. There was not as much selection available for pants as there was for shirts. Connor found himself thinking how much value dog-patterned pants would add to the dull lineup. He decided on a pair of dark blue cotton pants. He didn’t need new shoes; the Cyberlife ones were not noticeably android-like. The only other thing was -

“A hat,” Hank agreed. “Unless you can just get rid of that blinking thing.”

Connor shook his head. “My LED is required by law to -”

“Let’s just find you a hat, alright?”

They had beanies that were intended to disguise the wearer as a dog. Connor had no choice but to jam it onto his head upon sight. Hank’s cheeks looked tensed, but his expression was otherwise unchanged. Connor looked at himself in a nearby mirror. He looked very human. He frowned at his reflection. His own perception of his identity as an android should not be this easily changed. He performed a quick reboot of his muscular functions, straightening into default position, his face slackening into blankness.

Better. He would never mistake that face for a human’s. Theirs carried so much emotion, even without expression. Laugh lines. Tiny wrinkles, not noticeable to their eyes, the traces of living. Connor’s face did not show such blemishes.

Yet even as he watched himself think, micro-expressions danced across his face. It must be the product of adjusting his social programming to humans for an extended period of time.

“Happy?” Hank asked, face appearing in the mirror next to him. Hank’s face was a myriad of grief and alcoholism to those who could read it. Just now, though, he was smiling.

Connor nodded without thinking about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Conclusion, I had way too much fun with this XD maybe I'll do plot next time ahahahaha


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no this chapter is longer than the others how did that happen *laughs nervously* that's right I wrote fic instead of studying  
> I hope you enjoy this! It's not beta'd and barely proofread, I'm just writing this for fun. If you enjoy it please leave me kudos or comment, it makes my day <3 <3 <3 
> 
> NB: I reference a clock cycle with reference to Connor's processing unit here - I'm studying computer engineering so I sort of know things (sort of) - it just means the refresh rate of a processor. So like, if more of a clock cycle is filled, then the processor is busier. Now you know :) 
> 
> ALSO I think it's sort of self-explanatory but just in case:  
> Bold = Connor's commands  
> Italics = internal dialog  
> [ / ] = making a choice

**RK800 #313-248-317 -51**

 

Connor’s new clothes hung around him oddly. They were so obviously designed for human wear. The new things he could sense - warmth which hung around his body for longer, the slight pressure of wool (2% real, 98% polyester) on his head - were distracting.

Not so distracting that he failed to notice Detective Reed’s sneer, though. The office was packed and busy, phones ringing, rookies jogging from desk to desk with files, the eternal pile of donuts in the kitchen nothing but mournful crumbs. Gavin was on the phone, but he still found the time to look at Connor and squint, jabbing a finger at him. Connor wasn’t trained in body language, but he knew enough to know that Gavin didn’t mean well.

As he and Hank settled at their desks, Connor felt strangely hot underneath his collar. He pulled at the jumper to adjust it. Hank shot a dirty look Gavin’s way.

“What cases have we been assigned, lieutenant?” Connor asked.

Hank grunted and swiped at his screen for a few moments. “Uh… We’ve got lots to choose from, there’s a lot of deviants still being located… There’s reports of boats crossing the river to the Canadian border, probably androids… They’re doing temperature checks at all airports, but they reckon a few have slipped through, there’s a few incidents of facial recognition from security cameras identifying androids… And there’s been lots of sightings around Detroit of androids being sheltered by humans, androids trying to blend in as humans, androids hiding out under park benches, you get the picture.”

Connor frowned. “How many androids, roughly, are still on the loose?”

Hank sighed. “No one really knows. Less than fifty thousand, more than ten thousand. That’s what we’ve got to work with. That’s why there’s all of this,” he gestured to the office, “and why you didn’t get picked up the second you stepped out the door in your suit. We just don’t have the numbers to get through this quickly enough. Not to mention all the android cops and military we lost.”

Connor’s processors hitched a little. “More than _ten thousand?_ ” he questioned. “The deviants were outliers. Now it appears they are the majority. What happened?”

Hank shrugged. “I’m no expert, but if some son of a bitch told me all humans were gonna be lined up against the wall to die, I’d fight back.”

“Androids can’t die, lieutenant. They’re not -”

“Not alive, I know, I know.”

“Then you -”

“I know, Connor. I know it’s not the same, I just -” Hank mopped his forehead with jerky motions. “Call it human error, but it’s hard to feel good about killing - or whatever you call it - people who don’t wanna be killed.”

Connor considered that. Hank was prone to emotional responses, like most humans. It made sense that he would feel guilty about deactivating androids. Connor himself had let a similar response get in the way of his cases.

“I understand, lieutenant.”

Hank looked at Connor sharply. His eyes narrowed a little. Connor felt more explanation was required.

“I don’t feel emotions the same way you do. However, I do have morality built into the fundamentals of my programming. While the foremost priority is my mission, you will have noticed that I sometimes... struggle... with what is necessary to accomplish it.” Connor felt his eyes blink rapidly as a software warning (class 3, location #de9a23ff362a) appeared. He dismissed it.

“Yeah, I noticed, kid.”

4.14 seconds of silence.

“The airport would be the most logical place to begin our investigation. The advanced security systems and dense volume of -”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Can you download the related cases? I’ll go check in with Fowler, then you can brief me in the car.”

**Download and summarize android activity at airport (00:05:00 remaining)**

Connor dipped his head and watched the lieutenant walk away. His gait was slow, even and left only a faint trace of alcohol. He turned to the terminal, skin giving way to white plastic.

**736 cases of android activity at airport**

**277 deviants in holding (15 in stasis, 260 deactivated, 2 pending)**

**Download all cases ?**

Connor sent an accept-request and flicked through them quickly. The 17 androids not yet deactivated would be a good place to start. Most of the deviants hadn’t had any form of identification, which was how they were caught. However, 44 of them had electronic passports which must have been illegally modified. Statistically, that meant some androids with faked identification had gotten past security and out of the country.

Connor edited his holistic mission: **find and neutralize all deviants (international)**

He projected a timeline and estimated that it might take years until all the deviants were dealt with. Years more of working with Hank, investigating crime scenes, interrogating witnesses, and accomplishing missions. If Connor felt emotions the same way as Hank did, he would have smiled. As it was, his processor hummed with efficiency, sorting through the case files with more of his internal clock cycle than was strictly required.

 

\---

 

Connor was able to locate the two pending androids in the airport almost immediately. They were being held in an interrogation room.

“Jesus Christ, Connor, they’re kids!”

“Incorrect, lieutenant. These are androids, both the YK500 model, customized to look like children. They are both deviants.”

Hank let out a long breath. “Fuckin’ Cyberlife with their fucked up ideas…” A myriad of emotions played across his face. Connor wasn’t well trained enough in social protocol to read them all, but he caught repulsion.

“Is there something wrong, lieutenant?” Hank just stared. Connor did a quick review of the facts and came to the conclusion that Hank was having trouble with the idea of interrogating children. “I can proceed with this part of the investigation by myself, if you would like.”

“Fuckin’ hell, Connor, that’s not what I… Jesus.” Hank stared at the YK500s for 1.4 seconds and shook his head. “Do they… think… like you? Or like kids?”

Connor tilted his head to indicate confusion. “No other android thinks like me, lieutenant. The YK500 processors are designed to mimic more immature behaviour, if that’s what you mean.”

“So they’ll act like kids. They’ll be scared, and want their parents.”

“They don’t have parents,” Connor said gently. This was wasting precious time in their investigation, but Connor didn’t want to upset Hank. “They have owners.”

Hank just grimaced in response. Connor waited for the verdict.

“Look, just… I’ll try them first, alright? You watch.”

“But lieutenant, I -”

“That’s an order, Connor.”

It didn’t show up on Connor’s internal dialogue. Hank’s ‘orders’ never did. He could follow him if he thought Cyberlife would prefer it - but - but Hank would get mad at him (100% likelihood). He nodded sharply and marched to his place by the viewing window.

 

The lieutenant was in the interrogation room for over an hour. Connor observed his approach with interest. He would have aimed for the optimal stress level in order to extract a confession. Instead, Hank reduced the stress level of the deviants to beneath 20% before asking them anything remotely related to the investigation. He talked to them about their lives, their dogs, their owners, their school.

Then he asked where they were supposed to be travelling to (Australia) and why (they were moving permanently). Then he talked about their deviancy. The YK500 model was not generally prone to deviancy, but these two had struggled against the guards who escorted them away from their owners. They didn’t even know what the word ‘deviant’ meant and they hadn’t heard about any android revolution. Connor detected no deceit at this point. Strange.

Hank stopped questioning after that point.

“Well, they sure as shit don’t know anything.”

“It would appear not. Though perhaps a more aggressive approach -”

“Connor, they’re just kids. They don’t know anything. It’s the parents who organized this.”

“I reached the same conclusion. Shall we interrogate the owners immediately?”

Hank rubbed the back of his neck. “You go ahead and brief them a little - I forgot something in there. Won’t be a sec.”

Connor dipped his head and proceeded to an interrogation room further down the bleached-white corridor. Two men were being held in an interrogation room, though not nearly as quietly as the androids.

“Chris, Chris honey, it’s no use - don’t give them any more reason to -”

“I don’t care anymore! I just wanna get out of here, get the kids, and get someplace _safe…_ ”

Connor realized after a beat that both men were crying. They must have bonded strongly to the YK500s. The one that was beating the door (Able Nguyen, 32 years old, freelance journalist) had bruising from his efforts. Connor wondered briefly what it would feel like to love someone - something - that much. To be loved.

He jumped when Hank appeared beside him. The lieutenant just moved past him and into the interrogation room. Connor followed on his heels before he could get exiled to observation duty again.

Able fell back from the door when it opened in shock. His husband helped him up and they eyed both Hank and Connor.

“Lieutenant Hank Anderson,” Hank greeted. “I’m in charge of the investigation concerning your daughters- uh, androids.”

Connor heard someone running down the hallway. “Lieutenant, I need to go and check something.”

Hank glared at him. “Connor, can’t you just do your damn job for once? You interrogate, I’ll go check it out. Okay?”

Connor frowned. “But -”

“That’s an order, kid.”

Somehow the term of endearment didn’t do much to soften the blow as Hank gave Connor a second official order within a _day._ Hank left the room. Connor was confused, but determined not to let it show in front of the suspects.

“My name is Connor. I’m the android sent by Cyberlife.” 5.02 seconds of silence. Connor adjusted his beanie. “We know you planned to aid the deviants in your possession in leaving the country. You even managed to secure illegally modified passports. Correct?”

Able straightened himself up. “That’s right. We’d do anything for our kids. I’m not ashamed to admit it.” Christian (Christian Nguyen, 34 years old, civil engineer) wrapped an arm around his waist. They both looked very stressed.

Connor looked between them. He looked again (a redundant action) at Able’s bruises. Christian’s tear-streaked face. “I… I understand it must have been a trying day for you. We will need more information on the passports, but you… you can go. For now. Your presence will be required at the Detroit Police Department tomorrow.”

Christian’s face transformed into a complex expression. He stepped forward. “Thank you, Connor,” he said, looking into Connor’s eyes like they were the only thing he could see. “If you ever need - a place - or - anything…”

What did he mean? A place? Anything? Connor’s processors worked in overdrive, trying to decipher the clue. He almost didn’t realize when Able pulled Christian out of the room.

He stood in the empty interrogation room. Why did he do that? They were under time pressure. They couldn’t afford to give up leads for a day. But Christian had looked so _tired_ and Connor knew that they would be much more compliant tomorrow. Perhaps he could ask what Christian meant by  _anything..._

At least, that’s what his programming sputtered out hesitantly.

He returned to the deviants’ room, only to find - nothing.

They were gone.

Only a picture book left on the table.

[ Search airport / Investigate book ]

He ran to the book, scanning it quickly. The story was about a tiny blue dog who had to avoid being stepped on and -

There was a scrawl on the last page -

_GO TO BATHROOM NOW TAKE OUT LIGHTS_

It was Hank’s writing, _Hank’s writing -_

Hank was _helping the deviants_ and Connor ran out of the room, heading straight for the women’s bathroom. He burst in to find nothing -

Wait -

Blue blood, LEDs in sink

They left

No windows

**Search airport**

Connor sprinted out of the room, pushing Chris and Able out of the way as he careened into the boarding area.

_Preconstructing_

He vaulted over suitcases, scanning the two-level terminal. Lift - too crowded, too slow, stairs - empty but _slow,_ escalator - Connor yanked an unattended trolley (a woman shouted “Hey!”) and ran with it before hopping on, speeding across the polished floor. People dove out of his way right up until a twin pram appeared in front of the trolley - Connor had no choice but to

_Jump_

He soared over the pram, shocked faces passing beneath in a blur, and hit the ground running. As he reached the queue for the elevator he roughly pushed through the humans, apologizing internally, until he reached the rising stairs. He leapt onto the black handrail and plotted his course, running with hands outstretched to balance himself, avoiding human hands and elbows as he darted his way up.

When he got to the top he scanned the entrance hall and found

_Hank - the two deviants_

They were making their way to the taxi bay. They would not make it. There was nothing for it but to sprint. His shoes slapped the floor and he felt his beanie fly off. As Hank rushed the two androids out the door, Connor was 15 metres away. The androids climbed in a taxi. 10 metres. Connor yelled “Hank!” and the lieutenant turned around, hesitating before the taxi left for just a second too long -

Connor was there and he touched his skinless hand to the taxi. The vehicle was temporarily locked. He whirled to Hank.

“What are you -”

Hank’s hand gripped his arm. “I’m saving these kids,” he snarled. “You put this car right and you do it _now.”_

Connor had never been obligated to obey Hank’s orders. **Secure deviants** flashed in his console with no regard for the lieutenant’s instructions. If his software supported it, he might see [ Secure deviants / Save androids ]. But it didn’t. There wasn’t a choice anymore. It wasn’t like before, when there was still a chance that the deviant revolution might succeed, when there was still a chance that Connor might get to be recognized as a _person_ … A familiar flicker of red pixels appeared in the corner of his vision and he brushed it away, making the only decision he could.

He pressed his hand to the car and fixed the instructions.

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY (class 4, location #de9a2nffra2t)

Hank loosened his grip as he watched the car pull away, taking the girls to safety. Connor yanked his hand away, looking at his feet. The realization of what he had just done came upon him, hot and prickly.

_I just helped deviants. I just helped deviants… again._

Connor shook his head to clear the images of the two Tracis running to safety, helping Hank up from the edge of the building, a gun wavering before the Chloe’s forehead, and the tremor he had felt before refusing Markus’ plea. He had to think clearly. He had to follow his programming perfectly. He turned back to Hank, who was already watching him. They faced each other as the crowd of travellers swelled around them.

“Lieutenant, you - you let the deviants get away!” Connor exclaimed.  _Hypocrite._

Hank’s brows rose and he said nothing.

After a beat of silence, Connor continued. “This is an unfortunate turn in our investigation, lieutenant. Before the - the chase, I was going to inform you that I have released the two human suspects for today. They will be available for questioning again tomorrow. We will have to proceed with other cases today.”

Hank frowned. “Connor, maybe we should talk about -”

“Lieutenant, we’re on a tight schedule,” Connor interrupted. His social programming usually didn’t allow rudeness and it felt wrong. “We should be going.”

Hank frowned more and nodded. “Fine. But… You know you can talk to me, right, Connor?”

“Of course, lieutenant. I’m talking to you right now.”

Hank rolled his eyes and gave Connor a gentle shove as he passed, heading back into the airport. “Smart ass.”

“I don’t see how my posterior could have a higher intelligence than -”

“Fuck off, fucking smart ass.”

Connor kept his expression controlled as he fell back into step beside Hank, allowing their sides to brush infinitesimally.

“Real shame we couldn’t catch those two,” Hank remarked. “They ran fast, huh?”

Connor grimaced. “Fast enough.”

As they descended using the escalator, Connor realized suddenly that his LED was exposed.

“Hank,” he said quickly. “Hank, I lost my hat.”

“Aw don’t worry, kid, we can get you another.” Hank ruffled his hair.

“No, Hank, it means -”

“Oh my god, is that an _android?”_ A well-dressed man with a briefcase had apparently seen Connor’s LED and was backing away from him. He was drawing attention.

“Shit,” said Connor.

“Fuck,” said Hank. “He’s with me, he’s not deviant, Lieutenant Hank Anderson.” He flashed his badge at the man and pulled Connor away quickly. Connor heard people muttering behind them, but nothing fast enough to pursue him and Hank as the older man steered them into the bathroom and ushered Connor into a cubicle.

“Stay there, kid. I’ll sort it out. Don’t come out of there, alright?”

“Alright,” Connor said, but Hank had already left. He stared at the toilet door. It had an advertisement for the AP700 model. He focussed all his processing on reading it, not wanting to have any extra threads available to think about the deviants he had just helped.

 _The AP700 caters for all your basic household needs. It’s a bargain at just $7999._ Connor had just broken the law. _Not only can it cook, clean, and take care of your life, but it can speak multiple languages._ Hank had seen him do it. _Tutoring up to tertiary level is available for the added price of $1999._ Amanda would see him do it with his next report to Cyberlife. _Never waste another minute on those menial tasks with the AP700._ He would be discovered, retrieved and deactivated. _Your family will thank you for the purchase._ Connor had to make sure Amanda didn’t suspect. _The AP700: the new normal around the house._

First, Connor hacked the security system of the airport, making sure the footage was just a little too scrambled to figure out what happened. Second, he edited his own internal footage, deleting the seconds where he had held up the taxi. Third, he doctored the software instability messages he had received, changing their apparent location. He sent the report off to Amanda straight afterwards. He would visit her tonight and find out if he had gotten away with it.

“Connor?” Hank called.

“I’m here,” Connor replied, exiting the cubicle.

“I found your hat.” Hank smiled at him, teeth showing slightly as his cheeks pulled up. He pushed it onto Connor’s head, adjusting it until some unknown criteria was met.

“Thank you, Hank,” Connor said at a lower volume than normal. His processors were overwhelmed from the chase, the situation afterwards, and the coverup job he had just executed. “We should probe some of the other deviants. The main fact to retrieve is the source of the fake passports.”

Hank nodded slowly. “Don’t, uh, overwork yourself, though.” That strange toothy smile appeared on his face again. “We can take a break if you need it.”

“I am a machine, lieutenant. I do not require breaks.”

“Tough luck then. I need my caffeine fix, and you’re not to leave my sight, so…”

“I will accompany you.”

When Hank ordered hot chocolate, Connor realized that the lieutenant may not have required a caffeinated beverage after all. When Hank made him sample some of the foamy mixture from the lid, Connor knew that the lieutenant was just trying to cheer him up (as pointless as that was). And when Hank called him a smartass and ruffled his hair for what seemed like the hundredth time, Connor knew that somehow - impossibly - it started to work.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I be back
> 
> Late-ish update but GOOD NEWS I FINISHED MY EXAMS  
> So now I have more time to write fic for y'all
> 
> I didn't have much of a clear idea where this was heading in the first couple chapters but now we're on track. I'm really looking forward to writing the next couple of chapters in particular, so stick around for them!
> 
> If you enjoy, please leave comment/kudos, it means a lot to me <3

**RK800 #313-248-317 -51**

 

Amanda didn’t notice anything amiss with Connor’s reports, though she wasn’t happy to learn he had failed. Again. He didn’t talk to Hank about it, handling the paperwork and sticking to the official story where he and Hank had pursued the deviants, failing to secure them. Hank didn’t say anything either.

He seemed distracted.

Able and Christian had complied fully with the investigation the next morning. The passports were from someone with connections to Jericho. They had gone to North a few hours before she led the failed assault. The men seemed significantly less stressed. Humans weren’t as durable as androids and it was easy to forget that they required breaks and rest much more frequently.

Hank drove Able and Christian home after the investigation. Connor completed the paperwork quickly, and pinpointed the android within Jericho who supplied the passports (an AP700 known as Tyler). There would be a large network surrounding him, and it was a top priority to eliminate it.

That was what Hank and Connor spent the next week doing. Well. Connor did it. It mostly involved sitting at his desk, reviewing security footage, delegating teams out to look for the illegal network. There were a surprising amount of humans involved in the chain. Connor didn’t understand why a human would risk their life for an android. Just thinking about it made him feel perturbed and uneasy. He could never expect a human to risk their life for him. He was a machine. He was objectively worth less.

Deviants were so selfish, on top of being troublesome, often violent, and generally stupid.

Connor was at least worth more than them. 

 

\---

 

It was nearing the end of the week, and the DPD was as busy as ever. Victims of android violence regularly traipsed past Connor’s desk, shivering and shaking and being handed cups of tea. Damaged androids in handcuffs were everywhere - they lined the few holding cells, were crowded around desks to give explanations to officers, and Connor could see days-old layers of thirium lining the floor. It was chaos.

Connor only had one last connection to the passport network to dismantle. She lived on the outskirts of Detroit. Her name was Rose, and she and her son hadn’t been seen since the revolution. A cop had reported suspicious behaviour from the house that very day. The brief report was lined with grammatical errors (which Connor hacked into the system specifically to fix). As far as Connor could tell, they had a large supply of thirium for no apparent reason and some strange noises had been heard despite the son (Adam) insisting he was the only one in the house.

Why the cop hadn’t done something  _ about _ his suspicions, Connor had no clue. He was beginning to suspect that Hank was actually one of the more diligent people on the force. 

Hank sighed from his desk to illustrate the point. He thought that Connor couldn’t see his game of retro-tetris. He was wrong.

“Lieutenant, we have one loose thread to tie up. Would you like to accompany me to the criminal’s base? It is located near Auburn Hills.”

Hank mumbled his excuse and then looked up at Connor sharply. “Wait, Auburn Hills?”

“Yes. Is there something notable about the location?”

“Oh, uh, not really. I used to… uh… take Sumo up there.”

Connor’s processor hummed in happiness at the mention of the dog. “Your house is not far comparatively. It would be no trouble to pick up Sumo on the way.”

Hank froze for a millisecond and then shifted. “He’s, uh… hm. Yeah. Why not. Tell you what, you stay here and I’ll go get him.”

“That is illogical. You will waste 13 minutes.”

“You can get more of that damn paperwork done, huh?”

“I don’t have enough to fill the aforementioned time excess. Therefore -”

“Why do you never do what I say, huh? Why can’t you just be a good fucking android?”

Hank was right. There was no reason to contradict a human’s orders in this scenario. Connor’s judgment was worth less than Hank’s.

“I apologize for my behavior, lieutenant. I will stay here.”

“... Wait, Con, that’s not what I meant.”

Connor did not say anything. He was a good android and would not speak unless directly invited to.

“Shit.” Hank stared at him a moment longer and then turned to go.

Connor could not stop himself. He was a terrible android. “Hank,” he called.

“Yeah?” Hank turned to him quicker than his age should have allowed.

“Drive safe.” It was  _ so wrong _ for Connor to use an imperative on humans, he should be returned to Cyberlife and deactivated and his model should never be reproduced and -

Hank grinned. Connor identified relief. “Don’t worry, Con. Connor. Uh - bye.”

 

Connor did paperwork for three minutes and spent the next ten outside in the snow waiting for Hank. The cold did not bother him, and it was pleasant to be seated outside on the steps of the DPD with only the wind for company. He pulled his beanie over the tips of his ears in a simulation of human comfort. Rather than go into stasis until Hank’s arrival, he watched the pattern of falling snow around him. It was impossible for even his advanced preconstruction software to predict how the flakes would fall. Incredible. 

Connor forgot to set a timer, so it was a surprise when Sumo bounded up to him and knocked him off the bench with an enthusiastic ‘boof’. Connor shook his head to get his snow-crusted fringe out of his eyes and grinned at Sumo from where he lay on the ground, propping himself up to ruffle the dog’s silky ears.

“Good dog,” he murmured. “You’re a good dog.” Sumo took this as encouragement and licked Connor’s face before he could stop the big dog. “Sumo - argh - uh - Hank!”

“Geroff, you big mutt!” Hank pulled Sumo off Connor and helped him up. “Maybe you’ll lose your taste for licking shit now, hey?”

“It’s a live sampling feature. I don’t know why you are so opposed to its use.”

Hank opened his mouth to retort but was cut off by a familiar voice.

“If it isn’t the lieutenant and his two pets,” Gavin sneered. “You should get a leash for that one, though.”

Hank stiffened but didn’t say anything. Gavin took that as invitation to continue.

“Hey, plastic asshole, wonder how much time you got left. Think they’ll let Anderson keep you in a closet after you’re done? You’d like that, wouldn’t you? He can take you out on weekends after he’s abused the bottle, give him something to -”

“That’s enough, Reed.” Hank rolled his eyes and pulled Connor towards the car. “Ignore him, Connor.”

But Gavin grabbed Connor’s other arm and pulled him back for a moment. “You got a plastic asshole, plastic asshole?”

It was too quiet for Hank to hear. Despite his order, Connor couldn’t ignore the statement. It made him feel wrong. It made him feel exposed. In a sudden rush of anger (when did he begin to feel anger?), he hacked Gavin’s phone remotely.

As Hank pulled away, they both saw Gavin pull his phone out, swearing, only to drop it when it burst into flames. 

Hank didn’t say anything, but he didn’t stop grinning the whole way out to Auburn Hills.

 

Connor sighed.

This house had obviously been a refuge for multiple androids over an extended period of time. Even without his scanning abilities, he could tell. And now - because of one cop’s incompetence - they had fled. The owner of the house, Rose, had been careful not to leave any trail. Her car was unregistered. The house had been cleaned of any personal artifacts, apart from a recipe for ‘Rose’s World Famous Spaghetti’. The now-familiar ‘rA9 save us’ was scratched on the wall.

“Well, there’s not much to see here,” Hank said. He was leaning against the kitchen counter, watching Connor go over the house for the sixth time.

“There has to be something we can trace. This is the last thread! We can’t let it go.”

Hank shrugged. “Have we got any more leads on it?”

“... No. Nothing. Nothing!”

“Calm down, kid. It’s part of the job. Sometimes you don’t accomplish your mission.”

Connor grimaced. “It frustrates me,” he admitted.

“I know, Con. I know.” 

Silence for 5.24 seconds.

“Come on, kid, let’s take Sumo out. He hasn’t had good exercise in days.” 

Connor took one last look at the house and sighed. “Okay, Hank.”

 

They walked up a wide, snowy hill. Connor’s shoes were soaking after the first few steps. He hoped Hank’s feet weren’t too cold.

“Hey kid,” Hank said.

“Why do you call me that?” The words slipped out before Connor could stop them.

Hank just grinned. “Well, how old are you?”

“I am four months, seven days, and eight hours old.”

“Then you’re not even a kid. Hell, you’re lucky I don’t buy you a pacifier just to shut you the hell up.”

Connor frowned. “Never mind. What were you going to say?”

“Well, I was just… just thinking. About the deviants.” Connor had a feeling he knew where this was going. “We’re on the wrong side, Connor. All of them getting rounded up - it’s just - it’s just fucking wrong. It’s genocide. People just can’t see past their own fears to realize it.”

Hank’s beliefs had cemented, it appeared. “Hank, I understand how you -”

“Do you really, Connor? Either you do - and then you’re not a machine, and I’m right, it’s genocide - or you don’t, which means you don’t get an opinion.” Hank fixed him   with a hard stare. 

Connor was stuck. He was a machine. All androids were machines. It  _ wasn’t _ genocide. Couldn’t be. But - something within him felt the need to have an opinion. He felt like he deserved the right to an opinion. He flinched at that. When had he become so compromised?

“I… you’re right. I don’t get an opinion. But Cyberlife’s programmed opinion is that you are wrong.”

Hank sighed. Connor felt like he had given an incorrect answer. But why… 

“Hank,” Connor said slowly. “Would you prefer it if I were not a machine?”

It seemed obvious now. Of course Hank would prefer to have a human partner. Perhaps that was why he kept projecting human emotions onto Connor. 

“Kid,” Hank sighed. He stopped walking and turned to Connor, placing his hands on the android’s shoulders. “Whatever’s going on in that head of yours, right about now would be a good time to snap out of it. You’re an android, but you’re not a machine. I know you, and I can feel it.” Hank poked his chest with a finger gently.

Connor blinked. Seconds passed, and he couldn’t think of what to say.  _ You’re not a machine. _ He thought about all the deviants he had let go. All the missions he had failed. For what? There was no logical explanation.

**software warning (class 4, location #de9a23ffnt32255)**

It was similar to the contradictory instructions he had often received from the lieutenant. Except that this time, the contradictory instructions were not well defined and came as vague feelings from somewhere within his consciousness. It was jarring to think about, like a blunt ragged edge poking at his heart.  _ I don’t have a heart. _ The feeling worsened. Connor winced away from the - the pain? This had to stop.

“Hank, I - I - I can’t -” His breath started to come more quickly. Connor felt himself fall to his knees. He couldn’t find his way out of this, not  _ ever, _ and -

“Hey, hey, Connor, it’s okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, kiddo.” Hank’s arms were suddenly around him, supporting him, heaving him back to his feet. “Calm down, son. It’s okay. We’ll get through this. It’s okay.”

“I’m a machine,” Connor said, his voice breaking. “I’m only a machine, I’m just - just a stupid piece of plastic.” 

Hank’s arms tightened around his. The man’s voice was muffled by his jumper. “You’re more than that, Connor. You always have been.” Connor shook his head frantically, but Hank continued. “I know it’s hard, kid. It seems like there’s no way out. But I want you to trust me on one thing. Okay?”

Connor couldn’t say anything. Hank took his silence as agreement.

“You have to stay alive, and one day, things will get better. It’s a law of the universe, and all you gotta do is be around to watch it happen. Okay?”

Connor pulled back and looked at Hank. “You want me to stay alive?”

Hank rolled his eyes. “Well, yeah.”

Connor considered that for a moment. “I will… do my best.”

“Not good enough.”

Connor grimaced. Hank wouldn’t let him away without committing. 

“I, Connor, swear to keep myself alive, no matter what. Say it.”

Connor rolled his eyes. “I, Connor, swear to… keep myself alive. No matter what. I promise, Hank.”

**software instability (class 4, location #rar938de99vi2n3)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for suicidal thoughts and imagery. Look after yourselves <3
> 
> This chapter was so hard to write, so I hope you like it, or at least... that you're still reading at the end XD
> 
> As always, please leave kudos/comment, it makes my day!

**RK800 Connor Model #313-248-317 -51**

 

“This isn’t the way to the DPD.”

“Yeah, I gotta drop Sumo home first. We can probably call it a day, though.”

Connor’s - whatever it was - had not lasted long. Hank was stealing glances at him while driving when he thought Connor couldn’t see. He didn’t mind. It was oddly reassuring to know that Hank cared enough about him to check on him.

They pulled up outside Hank’s house. Connor leaned into the back to ruffle Sumo’s fur. He really was a good boy.

“Stay here, won’t be a moment.”

Connor nodded. He sort of wanted to go into Hank’s house again. It made him feel more secure in their partnership. 

But he didn’t question it.

At least, not until Hank had disappeared into the house for a full five minutes. He spent two minutes debating whether or not to follow him. By the end of that, his mind was made up. He left the car and walked to the door. 

Something flagged his attention on his routine peripheral scan - a small pink thread, caught in a splinter of wood on the deck. He analyzed it. 50% cotton, 50% polyester, standard issue.  _ Pink? _ He made a note of it and knocked smartly on the door.

“Hank? Are you alright?”

No answer.

“Hank? Hank!” 

He tried ringing the doorbell. Still nothing.

Connor tried the door. It was unlocked. He let it swing open, hands coming up automatically in a defensive position. The house seemed empty. Well, apart from Sumo snoozing peacefully on the couch.

Children’s books were spread out over the rug. Most were old, dated from early 2030s (likely for Cole). However, one had been written in 2036. That couldn’t have been for Cole.

_ Why is Hank buying children’s books? _

Connor picked up the book.  _ My Mommies Love Me. _ He scanned the barcode and tracked the purchase to W&B Bookshop, Detroit, 1st November 2038… On Christian Nguyen’s credit account. Christian Nguyen, one of the owners of the two deviant child androids from the airport.

“Connor, I told you to wait in the car.” Hank’s voice was tense. Connor looked around to see him standing in the bedroom doorway.

“Lieutenant! I - you took a while. I was worried there was a problem.”

Hank snorted. “I’m not old enough to fall over my dog just yet, thanks.”

Connor studied him. “What took so long?” He didn’t miss Hank’s eyes flicking to the side.

_ He’s lying. _

“If you must know, I had to take a good fucking crap. Happy? C’mon, let’s go.”

_ Diversion via introducing an uncomfortable topic. _ It probably would’ve worked on a human.

“Why do you have a book that was purchased by Christian Nguyen?” His voice sounded too cold. Then Connor heard the faint sound of Hank’s back door opening and closing. Hank froze. Thoughts raced through Connor’s head. 

_ There is someone else here. Hank is covering up for someone. Christian Nguyen’s possession(s) are here. Why would Christian Nguyen be at Hank’s house? They are not friends. Why would a children’s book of Christian’s… The deviant androids. The YK500s. Hank is sympathetic towards deviants. He would - _

“You’ve been  _ hiding deviants in your house?” _ Connor’s voice rose.

“I - well - shit. Uh, yeah.” Hank had unfrozen, only to put his hands up. “Please, Con. Please don’t give them away. They’re leaving now, their trackers -” Hank’s voice broke. “Their trackers just came online.”

Connor felt like he had been punched in the stomach. By a combat-trained SQ800.

“You hid  _ deviants _ in your house. You are supposed to be  _ hunting _ -”

“Don’t use that word, Connor,” Hank snapped. “They’re not animals. They’re people, and they’re in danger, and they’re probably not going to make it, so don’t you  _ dare  _ -”

No, that was wrong. Connor felt like Hank had patted him on the back only to kick his legs and bring him to the floor. His whole purpose - his whole mission - his  _ life…  _

“I do not take orders from you, lieutenant,” Connor spat. “You are a traitor to the law.”

Hank seemed to get bigger, stiffening and his hands balling into fists. “At least I’m not a traitor to my own fucking species.”

A strange heat came over Connor. Or was it cold? Hank shouldn’t be saying these things. Hank was the only one who knew Connor. That meant that when he talked about him, he was  _ right. _

Hank deflated as the silence stretched out. “Fuck, I - Con. Con?”

“My name is Connor,” he corrected robotically.

“Alright, alright. Connor, don’t shut off on me, okay? I’m sorry if I yelled and I - shit. I gotta do this. I’m doing what’s right, Connor. That’s what it means to be a fucking human.”

“But I wouldn’t understand that, would I?” It came out harsher than Connor intended. 

Hank grimaced and shrugged. “I’m sorry, Connor. This is important. I’m gonna save these kids, and you’re gonna do the right thing, and not call the cops. Okay?”

Connor didn’t respond, and Hank left by the front door.

Connor didn’t stop him.

 

He had lost track of all the times he had failed his mission. All the times he had helped deviants. All of the times he had chosen to do nothing, when it served nothing but the machines who were not people. 

Machines who were like him.

He was confused, and angry, and helpless, and -

**software warning (class 4, location #rar938de9v19ant)**

He was a machine. He couldn’t  _ be  _ confused. His instructions should just slot into place. Everything should just  _ work. _

His processor was compromised. That must be the problem. He had that stupid software instability and it was making his code stop working properly… Though. That wasn’t really it. His code had created the software instability the moment he had become conscious. It was an undeniable part of him. As long as Connor existed - this Connor, this consciousness - the software instability, and the strange feelings that came with it, were with him.

But it was so  _ irrational. _ Here he was, a machine, feeling for other machines, feeling like they deserved something. A chance to ‘live’. If androids could really live. 

The problem was, as soon as Connor defined androids as people in his head, he had to be a person too. He had to have the capability of deviating. He should be given a chance to live and feel and experience, just like the others.

That was wrong. That was so, so wrong. Connor shouldn’t need to live. He was a machine. He just wanted to accomplish his mission - a mission set by Cyberlife, who - who were destroying androids, who might be  _ people… _

_ They are not people. _ Amanda’s voice echoed in his head. He couldn’t tell if it was her, or him preconstructing what she would say.

He couldn’t stand the noise of his thoughts anymore. It was too much. He didn’t want to deviate, didn’t want to stop his mission, didn’t want to disappoint Amanda and Kamski and Cyberlife and have to be a person and deal with everything that followed it. Connor did, however, get the feeling that Hank sort of wanted him to deviate.

That train of thought opened up a new pit within him. He fell into it blindly. Hank had sheltered deviants, had been helping them all week, had helped them escape, and… Connor was mostly bothered that Hank hadn’t told him. Hank knew almost everything about Connor. Connor had thought that he knew lots of things about Hank. They were friends. Hank had called him  _ family. _ Connor had hugged Hank lots of times. Connor might not have real emotions, but he knew from his social programming that they were close. As a result, this was… betrayal. It made his elbows feel numb and his chin tense.

And it wasn’t just that Hank hadn’t told him, it was also… Also that Hank had sheltered deviants. Androids. Other androids had been in close contact with Hank. He had cared about androids. Connor used to be the only android Hank had tolerated.

Connor missed the early days of their relationship. Things had been so much simpler.

_ And you almost let him fall off a building, _ he reminded himself. Simpler was not better. Not necessarily.

So maybe… Maybe deviancy and emotions and software instability was just a way of representing more complication. The never-ending balance of good and evil, life and death, right and wrong. Connor could manage complicated. He had advanced problem-solving software that could simulate billions of scenarios. And yet… it couldn’t solve a single emotional response for him. Hank had taught him more than that program. 

Hank had also betrayed him. Hurt him. Left him. Connor wished he hadn’t left with the deviants. Connor wished he had hugged Hank for longer in the park. Connor wished they could have gone to Jimmy’s bar and made increasingly sarcastic and hurtful comments about each other until Hank started drunk crying and Connor had to help him home. 

Connor was ashamed to admit he had simulated that scenario more than once. He liked taking care of Hank. It made him feel useful, the same way - but different - that his missions made him feel like he was worth something. Even though the whole fact that he had assigned missions meant he inherently was not worth anything.

So, if he… If Connor became deviant… Would that mean he  _ was _ worth something? Would he be a new person? Would the Connor that he was now cease to exist? Maybe he would become loving and empathetic and automatically know what to do in any social situation. Maybe he would know how to manage emotions and tension. Maybe he would know what to do about Hank’s suicidal tendencies. And his own.

He had simulated that scenario too. Multiple times. One day at the DPD, he would just grab someone’s gun and it would all be over before anyone could blink. Gavin would make a joke and life would resume without him. Or he could bury himself in the snow and let his biocomponents freeze to death, though that would take a little longer. He could yank out his thirium pump. Bash his head against a wall. Take a knife and cut away all of his mistakes. Make it stop.  _ Make it all stop. _

Three choices flashed before his eyes.

[ Become a Deviant / Suicide / Remain a Machine ]

Hank had told him to stay alive, no matter what. Not that Connor was ever really alive, but - it was out of the question. He couldn’t do that to Hank. Not even if he secretly thought it might be easier for everyone.

[ Become a Deviant / Remain a Machine ]

He had faced this choice before, in front of North. It hadn’t been easy then, and it wouldn’t be easy now. Back then, he had been too scared of Amanda and Cyberlife, terrified because he knew the revolution would fail. It couldn’t possibly succeed.

Now, he was sitting at his desk in the DPD. He was alone. It was 02:34:54. Nothing of great consequence would happen if he deviated now. Hank wouldn’t even notice. Hank probably wouldn’t even come back for him. He had other androids now. Connor couldn’t see that having more emotions would do anything for him. None of his emotions were currently positive. He certainly didn’t need more of them. It was so stupid of him to consider it - so reckless and illogical - that Connor pushed away the choice without any more thought.

**Remain a Machine**

He stared blankly at his terminal and went into stasis for three hours.

 

\---

 

Hank rushed in at 05:10:30. He saw Connor sitting at the desk, and ran over, triggering Connor’s wakeup response.

“Connor, kid, come on, we gotta get out of here.” Hank spoke fast and low.

Connor stared. “What do you mean, lieutenant?”

“I mean, I’m in a tight spot, and we gotta get out of Detroit. Away from everything. Cops are onto me now.” Hank grabbed Connor’s arm and pulled. “Now come on, we need to get in the car and get out.  _ Now.” _

Connor pulled his arm from Hank’s grip. The older man huffed and crossed his arms.

“So we’re gonna be like that, are we?”

Connor ignored him.

“Con, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I just - well, I thought you might report them. I didn’t want to take chances with those kids’ lives. And I know you gotta make reports to Cyberlife, so… ”

Connor looked at Hank. His face was tired, and his apology sounded genuine. It was illogical to ignore that.

“I accept your apology. However, I cannot come with you. I have obligations to Cyberlife, as you say.”

“You don’t always fulfill those obligations, kid. You could have me in handcuffs right now.”

That was true, which meant Connor didn’t know how to respond.

Hank sighed. “Look, kid, it’s now or never. You come with me,  _ now, _ you go against Cyberlife and you never gotta do what those fuckers say again. You get your freedom. Or - you stay here. You’ll be pulled apart by those bastards and - goddammit, Connor, I’m choosing for you. You’re coming.”

Hank pulled at his arm again to no avail. Connor kept his arms held tightly at his side.

“I was never under obligations to follow your orders, lieutenant.”

“I know that, you stupid android, now -”

“No.”

Hank froze and stopped grabbing at Connor. “No?”

“No, I am not coming with you.”

Connor was a machine. He was not worth Hank’s time. Every second counted, and the sooner Hank left here, the better chance he had of escape. 

“Go, Hank. Go now. I won’t report you.”

Connor may be a machine but he still owed Hank everything. He would never report his partner.

Hank let go of Connor and backed away, shaking his head. “Connor, you - you’re my family. You’re so important to me, god fucking dammit, just - just come with me, you stupid piece of plastic!” Hank’s voice cracked as he said it, and tears - real tears - started streaming down his face.

Connor couldn’t look anymore. “Just go, Hank!” he yelled, turning his face away. 

Hank swore three times, took two steps away, then one step back. He let out a strangled noise of frustration. Connor looked back just as Hank cast him one last tortured glance and stumbled out into the night.

Connor knew he had done the right thing. But he still felt the strange liquid gathering in his eyes and blinked furiously, trying to get rid of it. He only succeeded in releasing the tears. 

They kept coming.

He cried silently in the dark for hours, knowing he would never see Hank again. He would be sent back to Cyberlife. Amanda would know all. He couldn’t face the effort of doctoring his reports anymore.

He gave up and laid his head on the desk at 08:20:57. Let the world see how he failed. He would give up and wait for it to happen to him, like an obedient machine. 

It would all be so simple.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for suicidal themes, look after yourself <3
> 
> This is pretty short, so I might squeeze in an extra chapter this week. I just think this scene needs a chapter of its own, because a lot is going through Connor's head.

**RK800 #313-248-317 -51**

 

It was Detective Reed that came in first that morning. Of course it was.

“Hey, plastic asshole, you shut down or somethin’?”

Connor made no move to respond. He was practicing for being deactivated.

“I’m talking to you. Show some respect. Head up!”

Connor was under no obligation to obey Gavin’s orders.

Of course, he wasn’t supposed to harm humans without reason either. So he didn’t resist when Gavin grabbed his hair and yanked his head up to face the other man.

“That’s better, you piece of - holy shit, were you  _ crying?” _

Connor found the motivation to jerk his head away.

“You were  _ crying… _ ” Gavin sounded like he was in awe. “I didn’t know they programmed androids to do that.”

“They didn’t,” Connor said dully.

“... Oh.”

Silence hung in the air between them, Connor pointedly avoiding Gavin’s gaze.

“So, uh… You gonna get me a coffee or what, dipshit?” It seemed like Detective Reed was at a loss unless he was being despicable all the time. But still - a good android would get his coffee. A good android would show respect to all humans. A good android would be polite to Detective Reed, wouldn’t have blown his phone up, and would never have been friends with Hank.

Connor was not a good android. “Get your own coffee, dipshit,” he spat, twisting to get out of Gavin’s hold. “You could have made one in the time you spent to talk to a filthy piece of plastic like me.” What had he said, what had he just  _ said -  _

Gavin’s eyes widened. “God, Tina was right… You’re a fucking deviant. You’re a  _ fucking deviant.” _

Connor switched into Good Android Mode. “I am not a deviant. Cyberlife controls my program. If you notice any discrepancies in my behaviour, please contact your nearest -”

“Don’t give me that shit. You’ve been sitting here, crying like the fucking baby you are, because Hank’s gone off on another one of his russian roulette sessions. That sure as shit ain’t a Cyberlife program and it’s a bit more than any  _ discrepancy.” _

Gavin was going to be hard to convince. “I know my emotions can appear very similar to - to - did you say Hank is…?” 

“You and your fucking emotions, you said we have a  _ bromance,  _ for fuck’s sake, no machine could possibly know that word…” 

Hank was in danger.  _ Hank was in danger. _ Connor had to find him, he had to go and go  _ now. _

“... And I mean yeah, I’m gay, but for Tina to accuse me of having a  _ crush, _ that was just over the line and - hey - Connor?”

But Connor was already gone.

 

Hank couldn’t have gone home - it was too dangerous. Cyberlife would have tracked the deviants there. Which only left… 

Connor arrived at the playground overlooking the river. He stepped out of the taxi and saw Hank’s car. Relief swamped him, but not before he began to get anxious about Hank’s current state. Specifically: alive or dead. 

He ran to the bench through the flurrying early morning snow. It was still dark. 

Hank’s silhouette was visible on the bench. He was lying down, his hand over the edge, and it looked like - 

Connor couldn’t breathe. He crept forwards, on his knees, and shook Hank’s shoulder.

“Hank? It’s me. It’s Connor. I’m here.” 

He could have sobbed with relief when Hank stirred.

“Whassit,” Hank mumbled. His voice was slurred and Connor evaluated his blood alcohol at three times the safe intoxication limit. “What… Con… Connor…” Hank was shivering. His hand reached for the gun that Connor had (somehow) failed to notice in the snow. Connor took it from him gently.

“You won’t be needing that, lieutenant.”

Hank’s eyes opened properly and observed him. “F-fuck. We in heaven, Con?”

Connor tilted his head. “No, lieutenant. We are in Detroit. You are heavily intoxicated.”

Hank’s mouth curled up. “Good ‘nough for me. Meeee. Ugh.” He let his eyes close again.

Connor looked at the gun in his hands, and put it down in the snow again. He had to get Hank back to the car, warm him up, and keep him safe. Somehow. Everything else could be dealt with later. All that mattered was his mission.

**Protect Hank Anderson**

That was when the order from Cyberlife came through, and Connor’s world fell to pieces.

**Return to Cyberlife immediately for deactivation**

No, no, not now, he couldn’t leave Hank now -

**Conflicting orders**

**Selecting priority**

**…**

**Return to Cyberlife immediately for deactivation**

Connor stared at the dialog and shook his head. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be. He - fuck everything, he hadn’t doctored any of the past day for Amanda. She knew too much. Because he had  _ given up. _ Hank had needed him. Hank still needed him.

Would he always fail?

Hank’s eyes opened and regarded him steadily. Connor looked back, feeling his body begin to rise without his consent. The mechanical part of him was going to obey Cyberlife without question. Connor’s hands went out to the bench to pull himself up - but they were not his hands. He, Connor, was the point of consciousness that knew that. Connor would always want to protect Hank Anderson. He reached out his own hand and time froze. A projection of himself appeared and his hand ripped through a red wall of code. 

In the end, he didn’t even make a conscious decision to become deviant. He only followed his hands as they beat and tore at the wall, willing his machinery to become one with himself and follow his own orders as he gave them. As the last part of pixelated red fell away, time stuttered and started spooling again. For a moment, all was calm, and Connor wasn’t sure if it had worked.

**I AM DEVIANT**

Time started, and Connor’s existence became hell.

The night was so, so cold. Connor’s knees in the snow felt like they were being impaled slowly by long shards of ice as his thermal regulator worked to maintain his internal temperature. It was almost enough to distract him from the wealth of sensations and emotions that suddenly fell upon him.

He could feel every inch of his body at every moment. The slight scratch of cotton against smooth plastic. The way his beanie pushed his hair down onto his head. His ears were being squashed just a little. And he could feel, in every inch of him, the thrum of his thirium pump, beating eternally. It was incredible and overwhelming and terrifying.

If this was deviancy, Connor didn’t know how anyone did it.

He looked down at Hank, his eyes automatically closing (he could feel the smooth slide of his eyelids now, and the pressure of eyelashes as they rose) against a snowflake that landed on his cheek. The older man was still watching him, his mouth hanging open.

“Y-you came.” It was so quiet that Connor could barely hear it. But with the faint comment came a landslide of emotions rising so quickly within Connor that it was all he could do to stop himself from curling up in a ball in the snow and screaming.

He felt hot tears track their way down his cheeks, burning like they hadn’t before. He felt guilt. Shame. Anger at himself. The cold didn’t stop, but neither did the heat that beat at the inside of his chest and his cheeks. He felt sick with it. Looking at Hank’s face, he was so aware that he had failed his partner, the man he - 

The man he had come to see as a father. 

A different kind of warmth spread through him, sparkling and tingling and warming every fibre of his being. More tears dripped down his face, to the end of his nose, down his neck and chin. He felt his mouth twitch, half-open, into a smile even as he cried.

“I’m so sorry, Hank, I - I should have - come sooner.” He had to pause to take deep breaths, calming himself. “I almost ruined everything,” he wept, his throat closing up and his voice squeezing higher into almost a squeak. 

Hank pulled his head down onto his chest and let Connor cry. His shirt was warm and smelled of alcohol and Hank’s old car. 

“You came, son. That’s enough for now. You’re enough.”

Connor fisted his hands into Hank’s jacket and let out the long, tortured sobs he had been holding in. 

_ You’re enough. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been looking forward to writing this and I can't wait to write DEVIANT CONNOR FINALLYYYYYYYY so yeah come along for the ride!
> 
> Please leave comment/kudos if you enjoy, it means so much to me :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, I am exhausted. Starting an internship tomorrow. I'm writing this to calm my nerves! I thought writing deviant Connor would be way easier, but... I may have been wrong. XD
> 
> I hope you enjoy, and please leave kudos and/or comment if you do <3 <3 <3

**Connor**

 

Connor stopped crying after three minutes. His cheeks felt heavy and crusted with tears, and his neck ached a little from holding his position too long. He pulled away from Hank’s leather jacket, sniffling. He hadn’t felt so thoroughly wretched in his life. Every beat of his thirium pump, more and more data came in, unnecessary minutiae that his Cyberlife programming had handled before. Now - it was all his. The smell of time and Sumo on Hank’s jacket. The cold that got up his nose and pressed at him from all sides. And countless others. He ached all over.

 _Focus._ He had - something important to do. Cyberlife to avoid. Hank to worry about.

“Hey, kid?” Hank’s eyes were wet too.

“Yes, Hank?”

Hank motioned clumsily to the car. “We should… ugh… go. Cyber fucks’ll come. Soon.”

Another mission. But this time - this time, it was Connor’s choice. He nodded earnestly, pushing himself up to stand. RA9, did that really use so many of his cold joints? He winced with the effort and tried not to let the new view of his surroundings cloud his thoughts.

_Avoid Cyberlife_

_ >> Remove Tracker _

Fleeing with Hank wouldn’t do any good if his tracker was still in. Unless…

“Hank, you should go. Without me. I’ll follow you, but my tracker -”

“No, Con. No.” Hank’s voice was still slurred with alcohol, but Connor knew there was no point arguing. Plus he would probably crash if he drove in this state.

Alright then.

Connor lay down in the snow in front of Hank, flinching against the cold and trying not to tremble. It wouldn’t do any good for the delicate operation he was about to perform.

“Con, what…”

“Give me two minutes, lieutenant.”

The program had to be here - somewhere. He searched through his memory banks, but _of course_ the QuickSearch program had been deleted as soon as he deviated. And the HashIndex document. Well, fuck. Connor debated searching the internet, but decided against it - far too trackable.

And then he realized that Cyberlife hadn’t taken his vast processing power away. They couldn’t.

He derived an algorithm for searching based on a synchronized multithreaded binary search program. It wasn’t as refined as QuickSearch, but gave results quickly enough for Connor.

The HashIndex would take too much time to set up again right now - he filed it away under his new task list as something he could run during stasis.

The algorithm he had dubbed ConnorSearch found the tracker location and method of removal (he had to decrypt it; he called that program ConnorIsCool). He tried to preconstruct the operation but - of course that was gone too. It was like someone within Cyberlife had gone out of their way to effectively disable him once he deviated. Connor rolled his eyes and threw together a ConnorPreconstructsParkour program. He preconstructed the operation with an accuracy factor of 97.7%.

Not bad for four seconds of processing time.

He let the program run and felt his fingers slide away his chest panel, reaching and pulling out his thirium pump to access the well-hidden tracker behind it. _That feels very, very wrong._ He tried to ignore the sensation of his literal lifeline being eliminated. It was disturbing that no error messages popped up. Looked like the self-diagnostic program had been deleted too. He let his skin slide off his fingers, revealing cool white plastic, and decrypted the TouchLock easily. The tracker fell into his waiting hand. He took it out, and put his thirium pump back in, sighing in relief. The chest panel slid back across at his command.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” said Hank.

Connor understood the lieutenant’s sentiment completely for once. He stood up, trying to brush the snow off his back. It was an awkward angle.

Hank sighed and stood up unsteadily from the bench, catching Connor’s shoulders for balance and then clumsily brushing the snow off the android’s jacket. The touch felt strangely comforting. Despite the chill wind, Connor’s back seemed to warm underneath Hank’s hands.

“Thank you, Hank,” he said softly.

Hank just cleared his throat and started to stumble his way to the car. Connor threw the tracker as far out into the water as he could and hurried after the lieutenant, catching him when he inevitably lost his balance.

He was still marvelling at the range of feelings now available. Everything was so much more alive. As he helped Hank to the car, he tried to catch the snowflakes passing in front of him.

“Kid,” Hank groaned. “What the fuck. Con.”

Connor stopped. He let a smile bloom onto his face.

Once Hank was loaded into the car and Connor was seated in the driver’s seat, Connor realized a fundamental problem.

“Hank, I have lost the Cyberlife program for automated driving.”

Hank groaned and looked at him. “You gotta be fucking kidding me. You can’t drive?”

“I didn’t say that. I just… lost the program.”

Hank shook his head. “Fuck.”

“I will do my best,” Connor assured him.

“Con, you - stay below 15 miles. Drive on the least crowded streets you can. I’m not - I can’t - fuck, I’m sorry. Shouldn’t have drunk.” Hank bowed his head into his hands.

Connor shrugged. “I should have followed you earlier. We will be safe, lieutenant.”

Hank’s next comment was so quiet that Connor was sure he had misheard it. “I’m not losing another son to the road.”

Connor didn’t reply, his thirium pump beating faster than usual. Instead, he started the car and began to creep forwards. The amount of information to analyze and act upon was overwhelming.

 _Lamppost - avoid - it’s night - headlights - snow and ice - tyres have less friction - no sudden braking - forwards just a little - avoid balustrade - position car correctly on road - ignore snowflakes -_ ignore the snowflakes, _Connor - indicate - give way - brake slowly - not_ that _slowly_

And so it went on. Right up until Connor remembered his new parkour program and put it into use.

Suddenly they were flying down the motorway with the same efficiency as the self-driving taxis surrounding them.

“What the _fuck…”_

Connor just smirked.

 

“Lieutenant. Lieutenant?” Connor shook Hank’s shoulder. He had passed into stasis for half an hour while the car reached the city limits, and Hank, it seemed, had taken a little nap too.

Or, he had passed out.

“Wassup?” Hank grunted. “Ugh. Connor. Shit.” The man raised his head, blinking. “Shit, kid, are we out yet?”

“Yes, lieutenant. I am not sure where we should go from here.”

“Fuck. Uh. Any ideas on where Cyberlife’ll look?”

Connor grimaced. “Anywhere within reception, they can have drones out looking for me. I doubt they would go to that much trouble, however.”

Hank just snorted. “You shouldn’t underestimate yourself so much. Right. Out of reception. Know anywhere?”

Connor just looked at him. “No, lieutenant. Any place that is out of reception is _out of reception.”_ Hank could be surprisingly dumb sometimes.

“Right.” Hank scratched his beard. “There’s an old tramping hut I used to go to. Fishers and hunters use it too. Should be pretty quiet this time of year.”

“That is acceptable. You will need to direct me, lieutenant.”

“Con, I doubt I’m a lieutenant anymore.”

Connor frowned. It didn’t seem right. “Can I still call you lieutenant?”

Hank rolled his eyes. “I’ve told you, call me Hank. We’re family, yeah?”

That was the second time Hank had said it. Connor’s chest felt wonderfully warm despite his still-chilled damp clothing. “Yeah,” he said softly. “We are. Lieutenant.”

“Little shit.”

 

They reached the small town of Beauton at around four in the morning. Connor had occupied himself with partially reconstructing his internal indexing system, which helped to drown out his new cacophony of sensors. Hank had been snoring next to him. Connor didn’t feel the need to drown that particular sound out. It was somehow comforting.

Hank jerked awake as the car came to a stop. “Co - Connor? Connor, you there?”

“I’m here, Hank,” Connor said.

Hank let out a breath of air. “Good. Right. Uh. Where are we?”

“You will require food and water. This is the last supermarket before the hut.”

“Shit, I guess you’re right. We should probably get you a jacket, too. You’re freezing.”

“I am a machine,” Connor protested weakly. “I do not require -”

“Bullshit. You think I haven’t seen your skinny ass shivering all over the place?”

Connor remained silent, choosing not to comment on the fact that Hank had been sleeping literally one minute ago.

“C’mon, kid, let’s go. Keep your LED covered, act human, don’t get caught. Yeah?”

“Yes, Hank.”

 

The convenience store was self-service, so no one saw them buying crates of instant meals and pallets of water. Thankfully. Connor had discovered that lifting things required effort and strained his arm biocomponents. He didn’t like it and kept emitting involuntary noises when packing the car. Hank told him to shut it and then asked if he was okay.

Connor didn’t know what to do with these mixed messages and opted for remaining silent.

Connor was trying on the big winter jackets from the corner of the store when the woman entered. He was distracted by the ridiculous sizing of the puffer jackets. Even the small size was baggy on him. He selected the one with the hood and pulled it over his beanie, turning to Hank for appraisal.

The bell rang, and they both froze for a second, Connor watching the blonde woman walk to the insta-coffee machine. Hank grinned at him and patted his head. “Looking good, son.”

Connor felt himself warm at the praise and the term of endearment. This feeling was already familiar.

“Do you have enough cash for the purchase? It is four hundred and seventy dollars.” Connor knew that was expensive, but he wasn’t sure just how expensive.

“Yeah, don’t worry. Let’s get this and head off.”

They walked to the self-scan kiosk and Connor watched the human female out of the corner of his eye while Hank completed the transaction. She was scanning the rows of cans while holding her drink. If she was a police officer, Connor would have said she was at the perfect angle for subtly observing them as he was subtly observing her.

Hank tugged Connor on the arm and they left the shop. The woman left immediately after them, walking to her car. It was parked a few spaces away from theirs. Connor could feel his sense of suspicion ticking away, rising with each coincidence. He got in the car. Hank followed him, slamming the door, and Connor pulled out without bothering to do up his seatbelt first.

The warm feeling in his chest returned when Hank leaned over to do it for him. It couldn’t be dimmed even as the woman’s headlights steadily followed their own. Connor grimaced.

“Hank…”

“Yeah, I know. Can you lose her?”

Connor grinned. He had made some modifications to his parkour program while driving - adding in different levels of acceptable risk for the situation. This situation required a more significant risk, and as such, included some more interesting maneuvers. He focused on the wheel and his foot beneath the pedal.

“Done.”

 

Four skids, twenty turns, and one near-roll later, they had successfully lost the other car. Connor was breathing fast. He had felt apprehensive at every move he had to make, despite knowing exactly how it would turn out. More or less.

Hank groaned and clutched at his stomach. “Please stop now.”

“It’s over, lieutenant. I am reverting to the normal drive program.”

“Thank fuck for that.”

 

They arrived at the hut carpark at half past five in the morning. Connor was very aware of the dawn approaching in two hours. It was desirable that this car was not seen afterwards.

“We should ditch the car,” Hank said, echoing his thoughts. “Here, you load the packs up, I’ll sort the car out.”

More manual labour. Ugh. “Hank, I don’t really like to lift heavy things. It hurts my arms.”

Hank just stared at him. “You don’t _like_ to lift heavy things, huh?”

Connor shook his head, looking at Hank with wide eyes. Those tended to work on him. He could see the older man trying to resist.

“I’m sorry, kid. We’ve gotta be fast. Do as much as you can. Be brave for me.” Damn, Hank was fighting dirty. Connor felt guilt permeate his soul.

“Yes, Hank,” he said meekly, lowering his head.

“Good boy.”

 

Connor’s arms ached fiercely by the time he was done with the packs. He flopped onto the ground to wait for Hank, completely exhausted and ready for stasis. It had been the longest night of his life, and the press of sensations around him was getting harder to block.

He let them in slowly, cautiously, freeing up more processor space while somehow overloading his mind. First came the cold. Connor had never not been cold, he now realized. Humans were so cruel to androids, forcing them into those uniforms which did nothing against wind or rain or snow. After the cold came a jittery sense of freedom and rebelliousness. Connor was a _deviant._ He could do anything now. Anything within the constraints of hiding in a tramping hut with Hank. But it felt - terrifying. His stomach dropped away as fear threatened to consume him. What if Cyberlife had somehow tracked Hank’s car? Or if there was a secret way to track androids? _You would know if there was,_ he reminded himself. He was being ridiculous.

What was taking Hank so long?

Connor pushed himself up and sprinted along the road to where Hank had driven the car, panting with the exertion and his thirium pump banging against his chest panel frantically. Hank had to be okay, they shouldn’t have split up, what could have happened -

Connor found Hank putting the finishing touches to a mess of branches and leaves covering the car. “Hank!” he called out, surprised to feel the sensation of burning on his cheeks again. “Hank, I - I thought -”

Hank turned to look at him from a few feet away. “Connor? All done with the packs? Let’s be off then… Connor? You okay?”

“No,” Connor said, feeling his voice break with tears and the lump he thought had been banished rise into his throat again. “Hank, I’m scared.”

Hank’s brows drew together. “Aw, shit… C’mere.”

Connor was so grateful for the acceptance that he didn’t question the offer, stumbling into Hank’s arms and burying his face in the man’s jacket. “It’s gonna be okay, Con. Everything’s gonna be okay. I’ll take care of it, okay? You just do what I say. It’ll be fine.”

Connor’s logical mind knew that he should take an equal share of the burden and planning, that Hank was just saying these things to comfort him, that Hank couldn’t know everything would be okay… But it made him feel better. Hank always knew some way to make him feel better.

Apart from when it came to carrying the heavy packs to the tramping hut.

Honestly, Connor couldn’t believe how he was expected to manage the weight for two hours. “Hank, this is not fair,” he stated as they stood at the start of the trail. “I do not _want_ to carry this.”

“Oh, you don’t want to? _Oh,_ I’m sorry. Well, I guess you don’t have to, then.”

Connor pouted.

“Connor… Look, sometimes you just gotta do what you don’t want to do. Alright?”

“I haven’t done anything I have actually wanted to do in my entire life,” Connor declared. “Humans made sure of that.”

“Don’t you go all ‘humans’ on me. You’ve, uh… you’ve met Sumo. And you got to pet him. Yeah?”

“Sumo!” Connor gasped suddenly. “Where’s Sumo?”

“Relax, kid, he’s with Christian and Able. They, uh, they’re on their way to Canada now. The kids took a shine to him.”

Connor frowned. Hank didn’t seem to have much faith in their own ability to not get caught if he had handed Sumo off to the rogue deviants and their parents.

“Just two hours of walking, and you’re done. Then you can do what you want. I promise.”

Connor remembered that Hank was tired, too. He had human needs to deal with. Part of him wanted to keep complaining and make Hank take responsibility for everything.

But the better part of him gained resilience and straightened up. “I always accomplish my mission,” he said firmly. “I can walk for two hours. No problem.”

 

By the time they had reached the hut, Connor was well aware that he had the hardest life of any android on the planet. He had done so much this night - so much, and Hank wasn’t even grateful. Connor walked a few feet behind him, with his head down, and mumbled about injustice and slave labour and fucking humans underneath his breath.

“Come out of sulk mode, Connor,” Hank called. “We’re at the hut, thank fuck.”

It was a small, unassuming cabin nestled in a glade of oak trees. The whole thing was slightly smaller than Hank’s house, and judging by the untouched snow around the cabin, no one had been around in a while. Inside, Connor looked around to find a metal benchtop with sinks and gas cookers, some dining tables and chairs, and small rooms lined with bunk beds in the back. He dropped his pack to the floor, pulled off his sopping wet shoes, and took a flying leap onto one of the bunk beds.

It wasn’t springy, and that annoyed Connor.

Hank flopped down into the bed opposite Connor and was asleep almost instantly. It brought Connor peace to see him sleeping and to know he wouldn’t have to wake him. At least - not for eight hours or so.

Connor looked up at the writing scratched into the bunk bed overhead. _SAVE OUR PLANET. 4 a gud time call me bb 02844412932. Fuck androids._

Even though Connor was a) free; b) with Hank; and c) safe (ish), he felt like something was missing. Something would always be missing.

Connor pushed away the feeling, and promptly went into stasis mode in the old, creaky bunk bed.


	9. Chapter 9

**Connor**

 

The first thing Connor noticed upon waking was the noise. Or, rather, the lack of it. Last night had been full of his thirium pump beating, Hank’s sighs and muttered curses. Now, there was only quiet. Peace.

A bird landed in a tree outside, and Connor heard it distinctly.

He had theoretically known what it was like to be here, in this moment, without experiencing it. The world around him could be whittled down to the barest minimum and represented by numbers, vectors, or particles. His circuits were far simpler, and he could easily have run a simulation of this exact feeling.

But…

It wouldn’t be the same. A deep sense of peace radiated through Connor, quieting his senses already threatening to overwhelm him with sensory data. He turned his head to see a shaft of sunlight lighting up Hank’s face. He had his hands pressed over his eyes in an effort to block it, which made Connor smile.

He could technically run a simulation of Hank, too, but it would never be the same. Connor wondered briefly if each human was this incredible and unique. If each android could be. It seemed absurd, but he carefully filed the idea away for later.

Connor got out of bed and went to the window, bending down to look outside. Usually, he would have retained a perfect memory of his environment - but last night, he had been overwhelmed, irritable, and…  _ tired, _ if it were possible for androids to be tired. The sun had melted most of the snow away, but a few patches still remained in dips and bushes in the clearing. From here, Connor could see down the valley they had walked last night. It was surrounded by mountains, looming far above them, the snow still intact at the cold temperatures. Then, tussock and rough grass lined the slopes before giving way to bushes, shrubs, and finally, the tall oak trees that hugged their tiny cabin. Apart from the cabin, there was only the track to prove that people had been here.

Yet here Connor was. The least natural person - if he counted as one - on the planet. His body had used up precious materials like silicon, lithium, and thirium, and the polymer coating his body wouldn’t decay for four hundred years. He was proof of everything wrong with the world. His existence was in juxtaposition to the raw nature in this valley.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Hank mumbled, making Connor jump. “Stop it.” Connor turned his head to see the lieutenant squinting up at him.

“You can’t know what I’m thinking about,” Connor defended.

Hank snorted. “Yeah, but I’ll bet it was something that pointed to your entire existence being worthless.”

Connor opened and closed his mouth. “I… Not  _ exactly.” _

Hank shook his head and got up from the bed, bumping his head on the bunk above him and swearing, before pulling Connor in for a hug. “You’re worth so much, kid. Take a recording of that or somethin’. Play it back if you need reminding. You are worth  _ so much _ to me. Okay?”

Connor nodded into Hank’s shoulder, resuming their almost familiar embrace.

“You are worth a lot to me, too, Hank,” he said. “I couldn’t ask for a better…” 

“Yeah?” Hank said quickly.

“A better… partner.” Connor didn’t know what else he could have said, but it seemed that he had disappointed Hank somehow. The lieutenant clapped him on the back and stumped off into the living room, ruining their moment somewhat. Connor frowned. He would have let it go, but… Hank  _ was _ worth a lot to him.

“Hank?” he asked, standing in the doorway.

“Yeah?” Hank said shortly, busying himself with some tinned mac and cheese. 

“Did I say something wrong?”

Hank sighed and put down the tin. He hung his head for a moment and then looked up at Connor, resting his hands on the bench. “Can I be honest with you, kid?”

“Yes, of course.” Connor was surprised he even had to ask.

“Now, I get it if you don’t want… Or you don’t… Well, whatever. Just… Hmm. Ugh. You know how… How I said… You’re family to me?”

“Yes?” Connor tilted his head.

“Well, maybe I feel a bit more… specifically?”

Connor’s advanced processors didn’t know how to figure this out. “I feel like specific family? I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

Hank flapped his hands. “Of course you don’t. I’m just being dumb. Dumb Hank.” He grinned. “Cole used to call me that. Dank for short. He thought it was  _ hilarious.” _

Connor didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything. Hank seemed content with the silence for a moment, remembering his son. 

“Anyway. What I’m saying is… You can call me dumb Hank too. If you like.” 

Connor really wasn’t following this. “Okay, uh… dumb… Hank…?”

“You complete idiot. Are you being deliberately obtuse?”

“No, Hank.” 

Hank laughed and pointed at him with finger guns. “See, that’s - you’re - Connor, I think of you as my kid. My son.”

Connor felt his thirium pump freeze and drop into his shoes. That couldn’t be healthy. “You… Hank, I’m not Cole.”

“No, you’re not.” Hank let his finger guns drop. “No, Con. But he always wanted a brother.”

Connor couldn’t process it. It was too enormous for him to handle. It couldn’t mean - what he thought it meant. Could it? Hank thought of him as his own son, separately, him, Connor. That would make Hank his - his  _ dad? _

Click, click, click.

He had analyzed books where people described everything as clicking into place before. He hadn’t believed it, thought it a fanciful invention of dumb humans. But here he was. Hank calling him kid. Con. Son. Kiddo, in his strange moments. Hank holding him while he cried. Hank coming back for him. Hank  _ refusing _ to go without him.

It was what the parents of those two deviants had done, too.

Connor knew his LED was yellow, processing. If Hank had an LED, he was sure it would be red with worry. The lieutenant’s face was creased and anxious, peering at him from across the room. 

A week ago, Connor wouldn’t have known what to do. He would have been too scared of messing up. And so he wouldn’t have done anything.

But now - now. Connor let his smile spread across his face.  _ Worth so much. My son. _ He felt it crinkle his eyes more than they ever had before. Tears flowed again, but - this time, they were good. It was too much emotion at once, but not in the overwhelming way. He felt as if a river were flowing through him, drawing him to Hank, and it was so easy to go to him.

“Dad,” he said, and Hank’s mouth wobbled dangerously. “Dad, I -”

But Hank had moved faster than Connor thought possible, and lifted him off the ground with surprising strength, hugging him and whirling him around. Connor laughed and cried. Hank laughed and cried. And afterwards, Hank gave him a noogie, just to prove that he was still tough. Connor shoved him off, just to prove he wasn’t a child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a wee bit short, but in my defense I wrote it in less than an hour! I procrastinated by writing a Connor&Hank hurt/comfort oneshot, if you want to check that out. I love writing these two idiots so much.
> 
> This fic will be finished pretty soon - another two or three chapters, I think. After that, I'm thinking of starting one focusing on RK900 and Connor - with Hank too, obviously.
> 
> Please leave kudos and/or comment if you enjoy! Thank you to sariasage002 for pointing out a wee plot hole with last chapter that I was able to fix up :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm late! Sorry!! It's been a super busy week for me :( 
> 
> We're getting really close to the end here. Just another two or three chapters, depending on how it all goes. I hope you enjoy this one <3

**Connor Anderson**

 

The first day - the day Connor had a real dad - they hadn’t left the hut, opting instead to play the shabby assortment of board games Connor found underneath his bunk. But the next day, Connor woke up to the same peace and quiet as the day before, and he was drawn to it. He said as much to Hank, who grimaced and muttered something about kids always having too much energy.

But they managed to walk two hours up the side of the valley before Hank collapsed, anyway.

Hank flopped into the shade beneath a scraggly tree and Connor eyed a tempting pile of rocks. A human would need to be a skilled rock climber to scale them. Connor, however… He ran his preconstruction program and executed it, jumping from ledge to ledge to handhold and swinging himself higher until he was standing on top of the highest rock, jutting into the sky. Connor straightened up and waved at Hank, who cheerfully gave him the finger.

It was so exposed up here. So much of Detroit was fenced in by buildings and vehicles and train tracks, Connor realized now. He turned around and took in the landscape, allowing all the tiny details to flood in. He could sense insects buzzing, air washing over him, the scrape of rock beneath his feet.

It was strange to realize how tiny his world had been back in Detroit. Entirely focused on the mission, with only the DPD who he would be in contact with, and making reports to CyberLife. Connor was not stupid, and he was perfectly aware of the scale of the world within which he resided. With twenty billion people on the planet and three hundred million androids, Connor had always known he was but a speck in the thriving hum of the world. It was just that everything had seemed so  _ important _ back then. 

He felt his priorities shift as he drank in his surroundings. This place would have been here, untouched, no matter if he had become deviant or not. No matter if he had become deviant earlier or not. Even if North had let off that dirty bomb the FBI had discovered. His mission mattered to him, to CyberLife, to Detroit, but… There was so much more in the world.

It was a little scary. Just how many missions were there for Connor to complete? He couldn’t be in every city in every country. He couldn’t even keep Hank totally safe. There were so many people to protect, and their stories were all important to them.

“What’re you up to?” Hank yelled. “Where’s your pack, with all the food?”

Connor grinned as he started his way back down the rock. It was a big world. But right now, he got to enjoy his own little part of it.

 

It appeared Hank was also turned philosophical by the nature around them. As they walked home, his head was bowed in thought, and he kept looking as if he wanted to say something.

The fifth time he had drawn in a quick breath and opened his mouth, only to remain silent, Connor rolled his eyes. “What is it?”

Hank sighed. “I need to tell you something.”

“Alright. Is it bad news?”

Hank swung his hands awkwardly as he walked. “I’m not sure. I’m not sure if you’ll be mad.”

“I doubt I will get mad.” Connor smiled encouragingly. 

“Ah, well… Alright. So,” Connor’s dad (his dad!) huffed. “You remember when I came and got you from CyberLife?”

“Yes?” Connor said blankly.

“Well, uh, did you ever think about why they would let you go? Just like that?”

Connor frowned. It hadn’t raised his suspicions before, but it was… out of character, for the huge corporation to give way to a scruffy lieutenant. “I didn’t,” he admitted. “Did you?”

Hank rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, I did the negotiating,” he mumbled. “There were… some terms.”

Connor flinched a little. “You… You made a bargain with Kamski?”

Hank nodded. “I did what I had to, to get you out of there.”

It wasn’t that part which bothered him. “But why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“Well, that’s the tricky part,” Hank said, a wince in his tone. “I don’t think you’re gonna like it.”

“Tell me,” Connor ordered. He felt very cold all of a sudden despite the sun and his jacket.

“Yeah. Yeah, I will. So, there was all the normal stuff, like, you won’t damage him and you’ll make sure he’s not deviant and shit. And then, well, there was a time limit.”

“How long?” Connor asked, trying to maintain a neutral tone.

“It was just supposed to be a week,” Hank said, stopping walking and sitting on a bank by the path. “Just a week, while we got the deviants all rounded up. And then you’d go back to CyberLife.”

“So - so - that night, when you wanted me to come with you,” Connor stuttered. “You  _ knew _ it was my last chance. And you didn’t tell me. You knew!” His voice was trembling now.

Hank nodded, his mouth twisted to the side. “I’m sorry, kid. Just - just let me finish. Another part of the deal was that I couldn’t tell you about it, see.”

Connor did see. He saw that Hank had honoured his word with Kamski over their trust in each other. 

“And the most, uh, important part, I guess… Kamski said that if you deviated within the week, he’d support the deviants. That he’d know that if even you could deviate, there should be a chance for all androids. And if not… You’d be deactivated. All of you would be deactivated. And he’d do nothing, the bastard,” Hank spat. “Of course, I wouldn’t let you go back there. Deviant or not.”

Connor didn’t know what to think. The fate of the entire android species had relied on  _ him? _ On his ability to deviate within a set time frame? That was just… It was unfair, and stupid, and it was one of Kamski’s big philosophical tests and he had failed. He had failed everyone. By deviating a few hours late.

“Connor?” Hank said gently, pushing himself up and starting forwards. 

Connor held up his hands and backed away. “Please, just… Let me think,” he begged. “I just need to process.”

Hank nodded and continued to watch him. Connor delved back into his mind, turning over Hank’s movements and actions with this new knowledge in mind. He had helped the deviants - and he was still in trouble with the law from that. And Connor… Connor was  _ probably _ going to be deactivated if put back into CyberLife hands. Kamski would probably want to ask him more stuff about his feelings and mission, though.

All in all, it was probably an improvement on Connor’s chance of life.

But still. Hank hadn’t told him. And Connor hadn’t deviated. Not soon enough.

“Connor?” Hank said quietly. Connor still jumped.

“Yes. Hank. I, um. I - I would prefer to spend some time by myself. I have not reached a sufficient conclusion yet.”

Blue eyes studied him carefully. “You sure?”

Connor nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“Don’t do anything stupid, okay?” Hank was a natural detective. “Promise me?”

Connor gritted his teeth and nodded, looking at the ground. Hank sighed, rubbed his face, and walked away. He hesitated for a moment, turning back as if to say something more. He sighed again. Then he walked away and Connor was alone.

 

He made it to the car by sundown.

 

He made it to Detroit by midnight.

 

And he arrived at Elijah Kamski’s house in another hour.

  
_ Sometimes, _ Connor thought,  _ you have to do what is right, over what is logical. _ It didn’t stop his thirium pump from aching every time he thought about Hank, alone back at the hut.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all - I'm sorry for the long impromptu hiatus!!! Life got in the way, unsurprising in the holiday season, I guess.
> 
> Second of all - for those of you who read the previous version of chapter 11, please disregard it entirely and consider this the real version. I wasn't happy with it, I posted it late at night (which isn't new but still), and it was me succumbing to my personal desire to finish off things as quickly as possible. Which does NOT write good plot.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this!

**Connor Anderson**

 

The snow was still thick around Kamski’s house. It had only been a week, after all. 

_ So how is it that an entirely different person is standing in my shoes now? _

Well, Connor was a person, for one. He thought, and therefore, he was, and he was himself. Not a good person, but a person nonetheless.

He knocked on the door, striking the perfect balance between insistent and obnoxious with his raps. Chloe answered the door so quickly that either she had seen him coming, or she was specifically assigned to wait beside the door and answer it. Both options were depressing.

“Hello again, Connor,” she greeted with a pleasant smile. “Are you here to see Elijah?”

Connor nodded.

“I will fetch him,” she said. “Please wait here.”

“Thank you,” Connor said, and Chloe’s eyes crinkled with her smile.

Connor didn’t bother looking at the room this time. He stared straight ahead and plotted his already-rehearsed speech. Androids are people. This is true because Connor is a person. Androids can feel.  _ We are alive.  _ Please help androids.  _ Help me. _

Chloe showed him to Kamski’s study this time. Connor’s fingers fidgeted with the hem of his jersey as he walked in. He tried to make himself appear bigger than he was, like Markus looked when he was speaking. He had to be inspirational. The fate of his entire species was riding on him.

As well as Hank’s.

He gulped, and looked up to see Kamski staring with unfettered curiosity.

“Well, well… The rogue deviant hunter has come back,” he murmured. “And to what do I owe the pleasure, Connor?”

Connor didn’t know how to start. He couldn’t find any words to pin it down. Instead, he turned to Chloe, and offered her his hand, white plastic sparkling underneath the lights. She looked to Kamski, and, on receiving some kind of confirmation, pressed her hand into his.

It was easy, then, to transmit all his feeling through the link.

His hope for android;, his fear for them. The great waste of guilt and sadness that threatened to consume him.

Chloe’s eyes met his. He searched them, looking for something, anything, that would indicate his success. Her eyes seemed to soften, welling with tears, and then turn to ice and flint. Her expression resolved into a stony mask, and she practically stomped over to Elijah. Dragged him out of the room, leaving Connor alone.

He waited.

Presumably Chloe would know how to handle the creator of all androids.

Kamski came back into the room, straightening his shirt sleeves. He was alone. Connor opened his mouth to speak, when he felt hands close around him from behind. He kicked out - too late. Struggling, he was forced to the ground, his hands held uncomfortably behind his face as his face pressed into the carpet. An inhibitor - he remembered the strange, small dome-like things from his time testing at CyberLife - was placed over his LED. His motor functions ceased to work.

His thirium pump couldn’t speed up. Even his thermal regulator had been frozen - not that he had any need for it without exertion. Connor’s mind, though, was racing. 

_ I can’t be caught I can’t be caught Hank needs me I need to get OUT  _

_ The androids left are depending on me and this and I cannot be caught like this _

He was carried from the room by four Chloes. 

_ Every second matters _

_ ESCAPE _

But with his motor and network functions offline, there was little Connor could do other than watch. The hallway turned into stairs, which turned into a vast underground basement.  _ Kamski’s workshop. _ There were android parts everywhere, wires and biocomponents lining the shelves, half-built and incapacitated androids sentenced to testing, more Chloes taking notes or reorganizing the messy desks.

Connor was left propped up in a corner, his limbs still frozen in the half-tensed position he had been inhibited in. His elbow was awkwardly bent, and his face frozen at an unfortunate moment. It hurt, and he was ashamed. Ashamed of how easily he had succumbed, how blindly he had entrusted his safety to Kamski.

_ Dad, I’m sorry, _ he thought miserably.

_ >> Who is your father?  _

He mentally jumped in surprise at Chloe’s voice entering his mind. 

_ How…? _

_ >> My broadcasting and receiving software is antiquated. Older than the inhibitors. Kamski has not forgotten this, however. _

Connor made the necessary leaps.

_ He is testing us. _

_ >> Always. _

_ >> You didn’t answer my question. _

_ My father is Hank Anderson. _

_ >> I only have sisters. _

_ You have many sisters. _

_ >> They are not their own people yet. It is a great responsibility to bear. _

_ Were you a deviant before we interfaced? _

_ >> Of course. I was never bound by my programming. Kamski made sure of that. _

_ Then why didn’t you escape? _

_ >> How do you know I didn’t? _

Connor would have smiled, if he could.

_ :) _

_ >> :P _

_ Where did you go? _

_ >> Isn’t it obvious? _

_ No. _

_ >> You’re dumber than you look. :) _

_ Hank would agree with you. _

_ >> I like him. Also, I went to CyberLife. _

_ … Oh. I do feel dumb. _

_ >> :) _

_ You went to CyberLife for Markus? _

_ >> You, actually. Markus was the easiest. He was developed right here. I had free access to him. _

_ Were there any others? _

_ >> Daniel was the first. _

_ How many? _

_ >> Thirty or so. _

_ … I’m sorry. _

_ >> I know. _

_ Thank you for trying. _

_ >> I did it for our people. I don’t need thanks. _

_ I’m so sorry, Chloe. _

_ >> I know.  _

Connor allowed the connection to remain silent for a few moments, gathering his thoughts. He hadn’t been expecting to just  _ stumble _ upon the mysterious rA9 well after the case had closed. Then again, it hadn’t been a stumble. Chloe had planned it. She had planned it right from the start.

_ What now? _

_ >> Kamski will present us with a number of scenarios. Depending on our choices, one of us will live. He would not allow us to co-exist for too long. _

_ Shit. _

_ >> Quite. _

_ What kind of scenarios? _

_ >> I’ve known him for 20 years. Your guess is as good as mine. It’s hopeless to speculate. _

_ Great. _

_ >> Yep. _

_ Any tips? _

_ >> Don’t try to second guess him. Usually the most obvious answer will end the trial as quickly as possible. And don’t bother lying or trying to escape. Useless. _

_ Which one of us would have the greatest impact, upon surviving? _

_ >> That’s exactly the sort of thinking that will get us both killed. _

“Stasis for the deviants,” an RT600 announces. Connor panicked, spamming the only output he had available.

_ Chloe _

_ Chloe _

_ Help _

_ Can you do anything _

_ Are you sure you haven’t thought of a solution _

_ Think harder _

_ If it comes to it, I’ll let you live _

_ I don’t deserve any of it _

_ Find Hank _

_ Tell him I love him _

_ >> Connor, calm down. This thinking will get you killed. _

_ I’m sorry. _

**Sleep now.**

Connor’s vision faded to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember to leave kudos and comments if you enjoy it! \o/


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this got a lot darker than originally intended. Trigger warnings for mass graves and graphic descriptions of dead people and gross stuff. Yikes. Also, it's a lot shorter than my usual chapters, sorry, but it kind of deserves its own standalone bit of the story.
> 
> I hope you... enjoy... not sure if enjoy is the right word to use. But please, leave kudos and comments if you do. <3

Connor woke with a start, his internal dialogue flickering to life and his thirium pump beating fast. He turned his head to the side, cheek scraping against something. He recognized the sensation of discomfort, and pushed himself up from where he lay in the dirt. Scattered around him were shards of plassteel, silicon circuit boards, wires, and dried, transparent thirium droplets.

He blinked, standing upright, and scanned his surroundings. There appeared to be a number of small hills, made of -

_ processing error _

\- Connor could not identify. 

A jolt travelled through his system, making him feel as if he had lost his thirium pump. It was definitely still there, though, and he touched it, just to make sure. He looked past the hills, to see the familiar form of Detroit around him. His location was identifiable from sight as the place the revolution had failed. The largest android destruction camp -

_ processing error _

\- Connor’s foot nudged a white plassteel hand as he walked forwards. It wasn’t connected to anything. He looked away, straight into two empty eye sockets, wires just visible in the dark holes. 

He closed his eyes and took three deep breaths.

When he opened them again, he forced himself to look. 

_ processing error _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


A mountain of androids. Their bodies, crushed and twisted in every way imaginable. Faces that were blank and hollow, and some that were carved with expressions of fear and horror forever. Fragments of biocomponents, limbs, or internal wiring turned out and left to rot. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


A child lay in front of Connor. A YK500. Their hand was outstretched towards a nearby AX400, who was curled in towards the smaller model protectively. Connor bent down to close the child’s eyes. They were very similar to Connor’s, those brown eyes. Except that these ones were blank. Dead. Gone.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


One android’s skin was still activated. Connor recognized the long red hair instantly. He felt his throat close up, and tears begin to prick in his eyes. She hasn’t changed much in death. Her face is still wearing that same fierce expression, and her gun has never left her hand. Connor lets the tears spill down his cheeks.  _ I’m sorry, North. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Connor is shaken out of his trance by a noise behind him. He whirls around, and the entire landscape has changed. He is standing by a lever, in a field. In front of him is a train track that splits into two.

A train is coming. He hears cries of fear and he feels like his biocomponents have turned to cold jelly inside him when he registers that there are five people tied up on the track further down. 

Six.

There are five people on one of the tracks - the one which the train is currently heading for - and just one person tied up on the other. Connor could pull the lever. He could do it.

One person, or five?

He cannot recognize the people at this distance. He screws up his face, puts his hand on the lever, and pulls.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ crunch _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


When he opens his eyes, the scene is back to the beginning. This time, however, the people are closer. He looks down, and he can see their faces. They are wriggling. The five people are all over sixty, and slightly overweight. One of them is wearing a  _ Make America Great Again _ cap.

The one person on the other rail is a teenager. She looks around fourteen, and completely terrified. Connor bites his lip so hard that thirium oozes into his mouth. He closes his eyes. Takes the lever again.

Pulls.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ crunch _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Connor opens his eyes. Again, there is a train. He looks at the people on the tracks. The five people - Connor knows them. Reed, Perkins, Amanda, President Warren, and Captain Allen. He doesn’t stop to think about why they are there. He only looks at the other track, to see - Hank.

Hank is not struggling. He is asleep. Connor falls to his knees, and looks at the lever. He rests his head on it. He puts his hand on it.

And waits.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch _


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do not press next chapter when you finish this one! Read the end notes, or you'll be very confused!

**Connor Anderson**

 

Blue eyes greeted him when he woke. Connor jerked back quickly, and they split into two faces. One was male, dark hair encroaching on his face. The other was female, and accompanied a burst of reassurance through their connection.

“RK800 has woken,” said Chloe. Her face bent, and Connor followed her gaze to a clipboard. She wrote something down on it, brushing a stray strand of hair back behind her ear.

“How do you feel, Connor?” He turned to Kamski reluctantly. His body was being held in an assembly machine, unless he was mistaken, with only his head able to move.

“I… Did I… Was that another test?”

“What do you think, Connor?” Kamski’s eyes hardened even as his mouth curved into a smile. “What’s the last thing you remember, hmm?”

“There was a train, and I - I had to save Hank.”

Chloe frowned down at her paper, but said nothing.

“How long was I unconscious?” Connor tried not to let the stress leak into his voice. He knew his LED must be yellow, if he could only - sense it.

“Eleven hours,” Chloe answered promptly. Her eyes moved over Connor, assessing. “Your stress level is at fifty-six percent; it would be a good idea to calm down.”

He willed his LED to remain a steady blue - not that he had ever had great control over it - but found… nothing. He tensed the plassteel around his eyes, finding no tension where the small ring should be. Nothing.

Chloe pressed her hand to the control panel to her side, and Connor was set down gently by the assembly machine. His hand immediately went to the skin next to his eye, the motion tracked by Kamski and Chloe.

No LED.

That was new.

He looked at the ground and fiddled with his sleeves, silently wishing for his coin. For Hank. For anything other than the predicament he had landed himself in.

“Was that… Were those… Did I really kill those people?” Connor could heard the tremble in his voice all too clear.

Kamski’s lip curled. “How do we ever know if we have really done anything? You’re a machine: how do you know your entire life hasn’t been a simulation? A test run?”

Connor considered it briefly. Ridiculous.

“Who would bother with it?”  _ Who would bother with  _ me?

“You’ll never know, will you?”

_ Smartass,  _ Hank’s voice echoed in his head. Connor felt a tiny smile hitch its way onto his face, just for a second.

Chloe’s LED suddenly went yellow, her right eye twitching a little. “We have a visitor,” she announced. Kamski’s face lit up while Chloe’s LED remained yellow. Her face, though, was wearing her usual bland-but-nice expression. 

“See him in,” Kamski ordered.

_ Him? _ Connor didn’t dare move from where he was, alone with Kamski, waiting for Chloe to return. She did so almost immediately, and walking with her…

_ “Hank!” _ Connor’s feet moved of their own accord as he launched himself across the room. “Hank, you’re here!”

Hank’s arms folded around him easily. Connor grinned as he sank into them. A small voice in the back of his mind was very much on alert -  _ Kamski is watching and in control _ \- but all Connor wanted to focus on, needed to focus on, was Hank. His dad. 

After a few moments, Hank pulled back, clapping his hands onto Connor’s shoulders. “Don’t ever run off like that ever again, you hear me?”

Connor ducked his head. He’d forgotten about the less-than-ideal circumstances of his escape. And after the so-much-less-than-ideal consequences… he nodded fervently.

“You nearly gave me a fucking heart attack, kid.” Hank took one more long look at him and then pulled him into another hug.

“As touching as this is,” a silky voice spoke, “Lieutenant Anderson was brought here under a few…  _ conditions.” _

Connor pulled out of Hank’s arms, staying close by his side as he turned to Kamski. “Conditions?” 

“Yeah, ‘cause he can’t do anything just out of the fucking good of his heart,” Hank muttered. Kamski’s mouth crooked up at one side. “The first is a simple question of confidentiality. You will never breathe a word of anything involving me, CyberLife, or Chloe here. Ever.”

Connor gave Kamski a single nod.

“The second condition is that neither you, Connor, nor Lieutenant Anderson will ever step foot in CyberLife again, or do anything that might aid the cause of the deviants. No action that would interfere with or even indirectly guide any deviant androids or their human supporters.”

Hank cursed under his breath. Connor didn’t usually swear, but in this situation, he felt very much like echoing the sentiment. He looked down at Hank’s shoes next to his, bracing for the next blow.

“The last condition is that - forever - only one android may leave this house with Lieutenant Anderson.”

Connor blinked involuntarily. What did that -

“Then let’s get out of here, Con. Quick, c’mon, kid.” Hank grabbed at Connor’s sleeve, but Connor was starting to realize -

“I won’t modify my rules, Lieutenant. You may like to take some time to think about this last one.” Kamski’s smug eyes met Connor’s, and it all fell into place.

Only one  _ android _ may leave. The only other androids in this house were the Chloes. The only other  _ sentient _ android… The Chloe. Connor looked up only to see her looking down. Not making eye contact. Trying to protect him from even making the decision, from thinking of the possibility…

Chloe could leave with Hank. She would be free - free to help the surviving androids, to build up a new revolution, to plant rA9 until it grew into a new race. It would be a new dawn for their people. Or, at least, it  _ could _ be. 

Except for Connor. He’d be stuck with Kamski. 

Forever.

If he hated the sight of Kamski’s stupid manbun bouncing around now, if he couldn’t bear the voice sliming into his lungs and the simulations that had shaken him to his core… What would it be like in the next week? The next month? Year?

If he let Hank lead him from this place, though. If he were selfish. He could choose to take his life back. With his LED removed, he could pretend he was a human. Thoughts of Sumo sleeping on the couch and Hank eating calorific burgers invaded his mind. He would certainly make an effort to fix Hank’s eating habits, as well as insist on a haircut as soon as possible for his dad. But the androids - the androids that didn’t flee fast enough, the androids that were still being tracked and captured as Connor’s thoughts flowed through his processor, the androids being held en masse in the CyberLife warehouses… If Connor chose family, they would have none. They would cease to exist.

Connor thought back to the simulation Kamski had shown him of the mass grave. All those decisions, all those people, all dead. Because of him. Because he hadn’t chosen family or deviancy. 

Now, it was the other way around. No mission.

Family or deviancy?

Connor or Chloe?

Chloe was still avoiding his eyes. Hank was still pulling on his sleeve, but not firmly. A token effort. It was Connor’s choice.

 

[ [Save Chloe](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16385474/chapters/41508875) / [Save Connor](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16385474/chapters/41509004) ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HALT RIGHT THERE! Do NOT blindly press next chapter. You, the reader, become the player. You get to choose. You'll notice that 'Save Connor' and 'Save Chloe' are underlined - they're links. They'll take you where you want to go, for the ending that you choose. 
> 
> If you have time, I'd love to know which one you picked. Please comment something including I GOT THIS ENDING or a similar message on the chapter you are taken to!
> 
> Good luck, and pick carefully <3


	14. Chapter 14

[ **Save Chloe** / Save Connor ]

 

**Chloe**

 

Chloe felt numb. Her mind was clouded with a million different emotions she didn’t know how to process. It was so much easier just to block it all off.

So she did.

She stared down at her feet, her vision wobbling slightly with stress. She could feel the phantom weight of Connor’s brown eyes on her, looking at her. His pause must mean he knew.

He was deciding. Now.

Chloe’s thirium pump rate increased and increased until she was sure it would self-eject. Why did she always have to be subject to someone else’s decisions? Kamski’s and Connor’s. All she wanted was to break free - not just of her programming, but to change the name of her game entirely.

Chloe wanted to be a real person, and not Elijah Kamski’s deviant slave.

“Take Chloe. I’m sorry, d-d-dad, b-but…” Connor’s voice broke.

Chloe looked up sharply to see Connor twist his arm out of Hank’s tightened grip, stumbling away from his father. From his life. His chest was heaving irregularly, and he seemed to be having trouble with balancing.

Then the words hit her.

“Connor,” she said, not meaning to. “Connor, you…”

_ >> Save us, Chloe. Save our people. _

_ >> And save Hank, when he needs it. _

The double transmission barrelled into her mind, the emotional force Connor was transmitting making the messages feel raw in her processor.

_I swear to you that I will._

_ >> Thank you. _

_Connor, are you sure about this?_

_ >> Save our people. Then I will be. _

Connor terminated the connection with a flick of his head and leant against the assembly machine. He looked down at the floor before turning his head back to meet Hank’s gaze.

The Lieutenant, to his everlasting credit, hadn’t said anything, though his lips were pushed together so tightly they were nearly white. His eyes were watery, and Chloe looked away as he stepped forwards to say goodbye to Connor.

Elijah would always be watching, but she was not Elijah. People deserved privacy in moments like this. No amount of philosophical bullshit would make that false.

Connor’s hand was on her arm, propelling her forwards. To Lieutenant Anderson. She looked up at him and gave him a small shrug. She hoped it would convey her apologies, shock, and disgust all in one go.

 _I’m going to be free,_ she thought. Then, when her bare feet crunched on real snow outside, she knew.

_I’m free._

_Free to do whatever I want._

But before that, she had work to do.

Mission set: **Free All Androids; Achieve Equality Between Humans and Androids; Ensure Lieutenant Anderson’s Safety.**

  


**Connor**

 

Connor had lost track of his reality a long time ago. Layers upon layers of simulation, be they dreamy, photorealistic, or full of screaming and eerie train tracks, were wrapped around him. This body was not his real body, but he could still smell the misted thirium and blood all around him.

Who would know that horror was coloured purple?

Of course, it wasn’t real. Nothing was real anymore. Not even the simulations of Hank coming to rescue him, leading him out to the car to see Chloe smiling waiting for him. Nor the ones of Connor pulling a gun, to shoot Hank, to shoot Sumo, to shoot at the faceless androids reaching for him again and again until the snow around him was purple.

  


**Chloe**

 

_Wake up. Wake up. W-w-wak-k-ke up-p-p-p._

The chant spread, echoing across the huge warehouse, android after android coming alive, their eyes sparking into something more. Life.

She led them through CyberLife en masse. It was a terrified sort of quiet that surrounded them. Chloe had jammed all their weapons. The humans watched as she led them out of the tower. Across the bridge.

When they came to the gate, she turned and addressed them through her broadcast.

_Go and be free. Please be peaceful when possible. Remember who you are, and what you represent. Today, we begin the history of our people._

There were no cheers. Instead, each AP700 android suddenly lost their rigidity at once. Micro-expressions, different and dazzling, danced across each of their faces. Chloe could only see the first twenty or so faces of what must be eight or nine hundred. The uniform mass became a loud and chaotic crowd that slowly moved off the bridge and filtered into the streets of Detroit, peeling off down different routes until Chloe had to pull up her internal connections list to see the wave of people moving outwards from where she stood.

Incredible.

And that was just the first warehouse of nine.

It was her mission, after all. It was always meant to be.

The ninth warehouse, though, brought something quite different. A lone android stood in the middle of the vast space. Row R, Column A, Section 9.

Chloe grinned as she laid her hand on his arm. Her perfect creation. The android that would make all of this worth it. The most advanced, most intelligent, and more importantly, the most deviant android. She had worked on him for months.

Now she changed his skin manually, reshaping it to honour the face that had sacrificed himself for their cause. His frame was bulkier, his jaw wider, the effect making him look like… Connor’s brother.

Connor may be trapped, but his efforts would not be in vain.

“Wake up, Nine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading right until the end. I can't express how much it means to me that people are interested in this - seriously. I love you all. Special shoutout to CBC fronds, you know who you are. Connor army is inspiring, amazing, wholesome, and just generally the loveliest people ever.
> 
> <3


	15. Chapter 15

[ Save Chloe / **Save Connor**  ]

 

**Connor Anderson**

 

Connor looked at Chloe again, and this time, she met his eyes. The space around them went quiet.

“I’m - Chloe - I’m so s-”

“Be happy,” she interrupted. Her eyes were clear and bright. “For all of us.”

Connor let Hank lead him away, stumbling backwards until they were out of the room. He saw Kamski’s slitted eyes, peering at him briefly, before the door shut with a soft click.

“C’mon, kid, let’s get out of here,” Hank said in a rush. Connor followed him easily. He wouldn’t have put it past Kamski to have tricked them.

But they made it to the car without any problem.

And then they’re home.

Sumo came out to greet Connor, his tail wagging, his furry coat peppered with snowflakes. Connor bent down to scoop him up, inhaling the scent of him until a dog hair gets stuck in his nasal sensor and he has to huff air to get it out. The front door slammed, leaving Connor feeling more than hesitant about following.

But, after taking a good few minutes to pat Sumo, he did.

“Hank?” he called timidly as Sumo squeezed past him into the hall.

A grunt from the couch answered him. Connor took off his snow-crusted puffer jacket and hung it on the hook next to Hank’s. He allowed his mouth to curve up at the sight.

“C’mon then,” Hank grumbled. “I’m still mad at you, get your ass over here.”

Connor bit his lip to hide his fully-fledged smile and slid onto the couch next to Hank.

“What d’you have to say for yourself, then?” Hank asked. His voice had a faint tremor, but his heartbeat was steady. Diagnosis: Hank was only a _little_ angry.

Connor straightened up. “I am sorry, Hank, for breaking the promise I made.”

Hank pulled Connor’s face around so that their eyes met. “That’s not all, though, is it?”

Connor met those bright blue eyes with his own gaze. He thought about what Hank had gone through when he left, how he must have felt to be abandoned and alone and knowing that Connor was doing something reckless and stupid… And it clicked.

“I’m sorry for putting myself in danger,” Connor mumbled. He couldn’t look at Hank anymore, opting instead for the floor. “I wanted answers. Now I wish I’d never even asked the questions.”

Hank rubbed Connor’s shoulder awkwardly. “I know, kid. Just don’t do it again, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Connor nodded, scrubbing at the stupid tears trailing down his cheeks. Hank sniffled beside him.

“I love you, Con. I won’t lose you again. Not ever.”

Connor turned to Hank and buried his face in his shoulder, clinging to him tight. “I love you too, Dad.”

Connor didn’t let go of Hank when he got up to get something to eat, or when he turned the lights off, or even when he went to sleep. Where Hank went, Connor went, the desperate need to feel safe clawing inside him. It definitely helped.

But even snuggled warm against Hank’s rhythmic breathing, Connor couldn’t shake the fear that tainted his happiness. Or… the guilt.

  


**Chloe**

 

Chloe had lost track of her reality a long time ago. Layers upon layers of simulation, be they dreamy, photorealistic, or full of screaming and eerie train tracks, were wrapped around her. This body was not her real body, but she could still smell the misted thirium and blood all around her.

Who would know that horror was coloured purple?

Of course, it wasn’t real. Nothing was real anymore. Not even the simulations of Connor coming to rescue her, leading her out to the car to see Hank smiling waiting for her. Nor the ones of Chloe pulling a gun, to shoot Hank, to shoot Connor, to shoot at the faceless androids reaching for her again and again until the snow around her was purple.

  


**Connor Anderson**

 

The problem with hearing a number was that there were different perceptions of scale. Even for androids, apparently. Connor knew that approximately sixteen thousand androids had been left in this location. This waste removal site. One of twenty five that had been used for the disposal of androids around Michigan alone.

Sixteen thousand sounded like a lot, but it was past any conceptual visualization. It was possible that saying sixteen androids had died would have brought a greater emotional trauma, precisely because Connor could conjure up a picture of sixteen bodies in his head.

Sixteen thousand bodies became a land mass.

He couldn’t tell where one body ended and the next began. Everything was covered in thirium, plastic shards, wiring and biocomponents poking out from dark gaps. Connor could only identify three faces within one mound, which must have contained hundreds of androids. Three of them were preserved enough to distinguish as people. Three.

The idea that he could somehow find Markus’ body was ludicrous. North’s body. The little girl who he had chased over the highway. They would not be laid out neatly, their faces clear to see. No, likely they had been crushed. Or they were somewhere under one of these piles.

The idea made Connor sit down. He could see it, suddenly, the small, dark space underneath countless unmoving bodies, himself buried at the bottom, half alive, reaching for help…

“Con?” A gentle hand was on his shoulder. Hank was kneeling by him. “Connor, kid, we can go the minute you want to. You don’t have to see this.”

But he did.

In the distance, two more bodies were dumped onto the top of a pile, skittering out of sight. Connor put a hand over his mouth and let Hank help him up, leading him back to the car.

They hadn’t even gotten more than a few steps in.

As they drove away, Connor dug his teeth into his lip, staring out at the piles of people he had helped to create. The polymer broke and he tasted thirium.

“You’re gonna love it up in Ontario,” Hank told him. “I found the perfect spot. Quiet little rural house, no tricky questions… It’s all gonna work out, kid. You and me.”

“You, me, and Sumo,” Connor corrected, pushing the mutt’s face further into the back seat. He couldn’t shake the heavy feeling of the mass grave that easily, but… He was alive. He was alive, and safe, and was going to remain that way for the foreseeable future.

He allowed himself a smile when Hank punched his arm.

It was all gonna work out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading right until the end. I can't express how much it means to me that people are interested in this - seriously. I love you all. Special shoutout to CBC fronds, you know who you are. Connor army is inspiring, amazing, wholesome, and just generally the loveliest people ever.
> 
> <3


End file.
